


Life and 3nergy (ABANDONED)

by VincentMeoblinn



Series: Sentience Fics [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Androids, Balloon Fetish, Balloons, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Bugs & Insects, F/M, Fingering, Frottage, Light BDSM, Looner, M/M, Multi, Oral, Orgasm Delay, Past Abuse, Polyamory, Vaginal, cases, for one chapter, holmescest, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Does not include alternate fic/ending I Hamish) Sherlock returns from faking his death to find John has moved on and is ready to marry a woman. He must re-earn his lover’s trust, and the trust of his paramour, in order to make a continued relationship possible. When the terror alert goes to critical even Mycroft seems afraid, but Sherlock is distracted by nightmares that seem to have something to do with the deceased Moriarty?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Does not include alternate fic/ending I Hamish) Sherlock returns from faking his death to find John has moved on and is ready to marry a woman. He must re-earn his lover’s trust, and the trust of his paramour, in order to make a continued relationship possible. When the terror alert goes to critical even Mycroft seems afraid, but Sherlock is distracted by nightmares that seem to have something to do with the deceased Moriarty?

 

 

 

[A New Beginning](http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/20april)

 

It took John about ten months to get through his grief to the point where he felt like something resembling a human again. He’d moved out of 221B and put Hoffnig in a closet in his new place, his batteries run down and his still form covered in a sheet. He was ready to move on, and those feelings were reflected on his blog.

_*I understand that he's dead. And I accept it. I still believe in him. In who he was. The truth behind that will come out, I believe that. But Sherlock is dead and that period of my life is behind me._

_And that's what life is. Things happen. Then they're in the past. And you move on to new things. New people. New friends. New beginnings._

_But it's also important not to forget the past. And I've found a few photos and a few blog posts I never finished so over the next few weeks I'll be doing that really. Remembering the past._

_And I won't feel sad about it. Not any more. Because they were good times. We did good and we had fun. And that's what I'm going to remember. My best friend, and he'd kill me for saying that's what he was, is dead. Sherlock Holmes is dead._

_But, by God, he'll never be forgotten.*_

 

Of course, the responses varied from understanding and supportive to mocking as people pointed out- ignorantly- that Sherlock hadn’t been ‘alive’ and therefore couldn’t ‘die’ and that either way he was a fraud. At least he had Mary. She was a nurse at the new clinic he’d joined, and a sweet and supportive friend. She was practical and funny, often reminding him of Sherlock… except with tact and a basic understanding of human nature. Sometimes he saw something dark in her, but he ignored it in favor of basking in her comforting presence.

 

*Direct quote from Blog

XXXXXXXXX

 

[A Few Pictures](http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/26april)

John’s trip down memory lane was both painful and helpful. His therapist was back in the picture full time, with Mary encouraging him to continue to see her. It drove him mad sometimes, but he still woke up and reached for Sherlock. Their relationship had been so rocky, but so utterly _powerful_. It was hard to believe they’d only known each other eighteen months, and more than half that time had already passed since his death.

“This is what happened when Sherlock had a chemistry accident. I guess being an android and a chemist can be an advantage. He burnt off all the ‘skin’ on his arms, melted the wires, and fried the circuits beneath. I had been to busy screaming at him and dumping sawdust on his arm and torso to realize how terrified he’d been at the time, but later he did that fake-laugh thing and mentioned how lucky it was that whatever creates sentience in an android hadn’t been in that arm.”

“Sherlock giving me eyes. I’m pissed off at him in this pic, so I’m not looking back but we made up by that night.”

 

  
 

“Sherlock was his most human when playing the violin.”  
 

“I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t how he charges. This is actually his ‘brother’ updating his hardware for him. He needed help and I’m pants at electronics so I just observed in case I was needed to do something in the future. Sadly there was nothing I or anyone else could have done once that e-bomb went off.”*

*Image Credit to: <http://colindyhan.deviantart.com/art/Sherlock-robot-409394531>

 

XXXXXXXXXX

[The Deadly Tealights](http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/12may)

Sherlock’s sense of smell was something that he often took advantage of. He couldn’t actually _smell_ anything, but he had sensors that told his brain what he smelled. It was a great asset for his deduction skills, but it wasn’t useful for romance. John enjoyed scented candles in his bath, they were therapeutic as far as he was concerned. He’d evening indulge in some bubbles from time to time. Nothing wrong with that, but he hadn’t realized it was something Sherlock had noticed until the case of the Deadly Tealights.

They showed up at the case with Sherlock all a twitter over there being a locked door murder. A man asphyxiated- not drowned- in a bathtub with the door locked and no window! It was too juicy for him to contain himself! John had to keep reigning him in by pointing out they oughtn’t to be grinning at a crime scene- though it _was_ infectious.

What John didn’t expect was for Sherlock to walk in and out in less than a minute.

Tim Leng, a yoga instructor, had been found by his flatmate Scott Bevan. The man was shaking when they arrived, and John immediately steeled himself to keep Sherlock from being absolutely horrid to the man, but Sherlock barely glanced at him as he rushed into the bathroom. The man had been there for a couple of hours, but hadn’t started bloating yet. Good thing. John hated bloated corpses.

Sherlock walked into the room and walked out in thirty-six seconds before making a broad statement to all and sundry gathered in the sitting room- mainly half of New Scotland Yard.

*"Your flatmate likes long baths. As does mine. So he goes and has a bath and lights all his candles. It's a small bathroom with no ventilation. Wet towels are taped around the doorframe from the outside - there's a tiny bit of tape still here. The flames from the candles use up all the air and he slowly suffocates. Just like falling asleep. The wet towels are removed and the murderer contacts my assistant because he thinks he's cleverer than me and wants to show off a bit. Which I can understand. I like showing off. Who doesn't?"*

John glanced at the damp patch on the floor, the tape on the door, and the corpse inside the bathroom he’d never even set foot in. Sherlock smirked and raised an eyebrow at John.

“Speaking of showing off: thirty-six seconds.”

Sherlock turned sharply and strode out the door with his collar turned up and a distinct strut in his step. John followed after, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit turned on. They’d gone home and made love slowly, Sherlock’s eyes on John’s face the entire time as he rode him until John was frantic for more speed. Then he’d thrown his head back and given himself up to passion. John had lain back, eyes squeezed shut, shocked by Sherlock’s overwhelming presence even in bed, and had bucked up into his body until he’d felt the telltale splatter of hot fluids across his body. Once Sherlock had his release John had let himself go with a cry of relief.

Their long lovemaking session had left John sore; his muscles tense along his calves and lower back. He’d also put in hours at the clinic that morning, so he was doubly exhausted. His decision to take a bath had seemed innocent, and he’d long put the case out of his mind. Sherlock hadn’t. John was in the bath for no more than fifteen minutes when Sherlock had poked his head in through the door and stared at him.

“Checking up on me?” John teased.

“Yes,” Sherlock stated plainly.

John recalled then that they’d seen a man dead in a tub surrounded by candles that day and sat up to apologize.

“Don’t,” Sherlock replied, cutting him off, “I know I’m being illogical.”

John smiled softly, “Come in here. Sit with me.”

“I detest baths. They make me slow. Heat makes my fans go off until it uses up my batteries too quickly and I require an extra charge.”

“You don’t have to come in the bath, just sit here.”

Sherlock stepped in and sat down on the toilet, pulling out his phone. They sat in mutual silence for several minutes before Sherlock did something surprising. He reached out and gently ran his fingers through John’s hair. When John looked up he was still completely engaged in his mobile. He appeared unaware of what he was doing. John smiled and settled back with a contented sigh.

John hadn’t taken a bath since, deciding to stick to showers instead. He’d thrown all his candles out, and had even bought a different type of soap.

*Direct quote from blog.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXX

 

[Death By Twitter](http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/23may)

 

Blogging about the ‘Death by Twitter’ case was by far the most difficult for John. He could now sympathize with Frank Hassan and the intense guilt he felt after his sister’s forced suicide. Now he wondered if there was some way he could have stopped Sherlock; if he’d just caught on sooner and stopped him from ever climbing onto that roof or at least been up there _with_ him. And of course, they’d never caught the murderer/suicide instigator/stalker of Ceylan Hassan. For a week after adding the case to his blog John had gone off on a tangent of trying to find the man again, but he didn’t have Sherlock’s skill so he’d eventually given it up.

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

[Murder at the Orient Express](http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/17june)

 

“I had the seafood platter. I left at 11:15 PM. He was totally fine.”

“I had the General Tso’s Chicken, left at 11:01 PM. He was totally fine.”

“I worked from four till eleven. I left late. Maybe 11:30. He was totally fine.”

Totally fine.

Totally fine.

Even John knew it didn’t add up. Thirteen people- nine customers, two waiters, and two kitchen staff- and everyone swore that Terry Wong was fine when they left. Which was a problem since he died from multiple contusions somewhere around midnight the day before. They’d located everyone from the receipts and interviewed them separately. So far they had no opportunity, but a hell of a lot of motive. Terry Wong hadn’t been a nice person, half of London had a reason to resent the man. He was a loan shark and all around vicious entrepreneur. As Sherlock began to dig into the lives of the (clearly lying) customers and workers one thing became clear; they all had motive. One had been fired by the man, another sexually harassed, a third owed him money, they list went on and on. Sherlock was convinced they were _all_ guilty; the problem was, how had they all collaborated? How had they gotten together and kept their stories straight? And without there being proof of them ever having known each other?

Sherlock and John both searched the internet, John taking on facebook and twitter while Sherlock hacked their e-mails. John was the first to find a connection.

“Sherlock? Check this out. The ex-employee was ranting a week ago about having been fired.”

“Yes, because he should be thrilled about it,” Sherlock snarked.

“No luck with the e-mail then?”

“There’s nothing _here._ Nothing deleted. Nothing in the spam file. Nothing.”

“Yeah, but one of the customers we interviewed responded.”

Sherlock was out of his chair and in John’s lap in a moment, holding John’s phone with his long fingers wrapped around John’s hand.

“John, you’ve done it again!”

Sherlock chased the twitters down their rabbit holes, but it was circumstantial. Some had spoken to others and another had spoken to a third and so on. There was no secret meeting or hints of future violence. Nothing.

Sherlock, however, was far from disappointed.

“We know they did it. They had motive and opportunity.”

“The problem is we’re lacking evidence.”

“I don’t see that as a problem,” Sherlock replied, “It just shows how clever they were.”

“Did you just _compliment_ the murderers?”

“Think about it, John. The man was a monster hiding just beyond the laws reach. They took care of him and _they’re_ just beyond the laws reach.”

“So you’re just… going to drop it?” John asked.

“Yes, and I shan’t… lose sleep over it?”

“Literally and figuratively,” John grinned, nodding confirmation at his idiom.

 

 

That was one of those cases that showed Sherlock’s sentience in full, because he wasn’t just following the cogs of justice; instead, he was defining justice for himself. At first when he’d written it up he’d felt pride, but after it was posted a deep regret started to fill him. He almost called Mrs. Hudson. He almost pulled Hoffnig out of the closet and powered him up. Leaving John with an animated corpse had somehow been important to Sherlock. He’d gone to great lengths to give him Hoffnig. Sadly, John ended up staying in his rooms and drinking instead.

XXXXXXXXXXXX 

[The Inexplicable Matchbox](http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/03september)

**WARNING PLEASE READ:** Okay, so we all know this story has been riddled with creepy crawlers, but if you can’t handle them please give the rest of this chapter a pass. However, if you’re game for more nightmarish insects watch [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGSUU3E9ZoM) first so the plot to follow will make more sense. Otherwise you’ll be rolling your eyes and telling me things can’t be possible and I’ll want to punch you for ignoring this note. Also, if you’re feeling particularly brave you might want to watch [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewO1jz2kQxc), which was the inspiration for this particular chapter. It shows the surgery to remove a tumor created by a parasite that managed to worm its way into a human skull. My research shows that the victim will not only survive but recover full faculties as well once their brain is allowed to return to normal size with the release of pressure. Incidentally, the worm I used is of my own creation.

 

 

John was nearly reduced to tears while looking over his notes on The Inexplicable Matchbox. It was such a good read that it was a shame he hadn’t been able to put it up on his blog, especially in light of the Olympics planned in Russia. It seemed their neighbors were heading for trouble, but John couldn’t say a thing to anyone due to the Official Secrets Act. Still, it didn’t hurt to re-read his own write-up that he’d kept for Sherlock and himself in case the Act ever let him publish it sometime in the future.

_“For posterity_ ,” John had told Sherlock.

_“If your posterior insists on keeping notes then so be it,_ ” Sherlock had laughed.

John drew up another drink and sat back in his chair to read the story of Sherlock in a clown suit, Mrs. Hudson being tossed from a helicopter, and John… he had done the unthinkable.

XXX

Isaac Persano was a jockey, new to the circuit with a rare breed of horse. Silver Blaze was Persano, bred by his family for generations. They were hearty and powerful horses, more suited to cavalry than racing, but Isaac and his trainer, Gabriel Allard, were convinced that they could be the next rave. So they had been breeding and collecting the Persano breed for nearly thirty years until Silver Blaze won a cup and began on his road to fame. Then came the shock of a lifetime when Gabriel Allard turned up bludgeoned to death in a hotel room in France. Both Isaac Persano and Silver Blaze were missing, making Persano the number one suspect.

John and Sherlock hadn’t been brought in at that point, but nearly a year later Persano showed up in a hotel room as well in the Royal Hotel in Brighton. The man was incapable of speech, rocking back and forth and whimpering to himself without forming words so John diagnosed PTSD, but Sherlock dismissed it instantly. He was alive and conscious… in a manner of speaking. He was clearly traumatized, sitting in a pile of empty matchboxes that were all empty except for one. Inside the one was a strange looking worm, dead but clearly vicious looking with it’s parasitical round mouth.

 “Besides, that man isn’t the important thing in this room. This is,” He stated holding up the matchbox containing the dead worm, “I’ve never seen such a creature before. I have to get this back to the labs at St. Bart’s and…”

They both stopped, staring at the door in alarm. Mycroft was standing there, silently watching them. He pointed to the DI in charge of the case and then gestured for him to leave. His superior was standing outside in the hall looking pale and drawn.

“I suppose we’ll be taken off the case,” Sherlock snarled angrily.

“Not at all, brother. I do want you to continue to research it. However… A warning.”

“Yes?” Sherlock asked.

“Doctor Watson is not - in fact no human is- to touch those worms. Dead or alive. Do I make myself clear?”

Sherlock slid the box closed and picked up an evidence bag, “Perfectly.”

“Very good.”

“John, go home,” Sherlock stated.

“Not happening,” John replied.

“Not up for discussion.”

“Not my boss.”

“This is _dangerous_. Clearly, if Mycroft is concerned…”

“Then I’m not leaving your side.”

Sherlock gave him a furious look that dissolved into one of fondness, “Very well. Put a second pair of gloves on. For me?”

John nodded and followed his instructions and they finished collecting evidence as MI6, along with one of their doctors, came in and collected the dazed man on the floor. Finally they were escorted into an unmarked van with all their bags and boxes, Sherlock carefully holding the one containing the matchbox, and driven to an underground laboratory where John was instructed to strip down and shower. He saw the civilian team from the crime scene being escorted out of a set of showers. They looked a bit frightened and were wearing scrubs. Sure enough, once he was done scrubbing himself down with some rather harsh soap that smelled of chemicals and made his head spin, he was handed a pair of scrubs to wear and a warm robe to go over them. Then he was told to roll up his shirt and injected with three different substances that made him instantly sick to his stomach. He ended up sitting on the toilet for near an hour, groaning in agony as his bowels emptied of every substance he’d ever eaten. Finally he padded into the lab in borrowed slippers, sure he was a full stone lighter, to find Sherlock leaning over a microscope; they were divided by a quickly erected, clear plastic wall. John sat down on a stool, tired and sore in places he hated to be sore in.

“You’re not to come on this side,” Sherlock explained without looking up.

“I got that, yeah.”

“I’ll have to shower as well, and they’re going to burn our clothes. Pity. I rather liked this shirt.”

“Yeah, well. You won’t be mourning the loss of my ‘ugly’ jumper,” John grouched, “What the hell are we dealing with here?”

“A rather alarming parasite. As they go they are not unique in the fact they jump hosts and cause alterations in behavior, but this is an undiscovered breed. We don’t know what it’s capable of, except that it uses more than one host to complete its lifecycle and that it can cross the human/species barrier.”

“You mean… that man…?”

“He wasn’t traumatized, he was damaged: brain damaged, to be specific. This parasite isn’t meant to enter human bodies, but when it does the damage is irreversible. I’m trying to isolate its normal pattern, but without seeing its lifecycle from beginning to end it is rather difficult. I believe it starts out being carried by flies as eggs, then migrates to birds via digestion for the first part of the larval stage- probably making the bird a ‘zombie’ and causing it’s behavior to alter- and then to large predator animals after that for the adult stage, then back into flies via feces as eggs. Instead they’re being transferred into a host they don’t belong in- horses- where they’re trapped through their adult stage, and from there into people via contact with the horses feces. The eggs may even travel by air rather than flies since they seem to be highly virulent- though that wasn’t a natural state. These have been altered, I believe. Birds swooping in to eat flies would breathe them in…”

“Then the fact horses are involved is important,” John replied, cutting him off as his stomach twisted in fear.

“So is the fact there were 1000 matchboxes in that room and 1000 horses to be transferred to Russia for the Olympics coming up soon.”

“And these parasites can jump to humans after being in horses… oh my gods. It isn’t animal husbandry gone wrong. This is an _invasion_.”

“Persano horses are well known for being hardy and strong, enough to survive a Russian winter.”

“So they’d destroy the entire of Russia with 1000 horses armed with 1000 parasites. A silent cavalry.”

“The transfer from horse into human of the eggs causes a small worm to penetrate the human brain. In a bird I believe it would cause it to offer itself up as pray to predators, but in a human it causes the catatonia we saw today. The worm, unable to migrate to it’s next host, would continue it’s journey into the bowels of the human where it would be transferred into _other_ humans via eggs in the stool.”

“Infecting hospital workers and distraught family caring for stricken loved ones, who pass it to their kids who…”

“Yes, and as it spreads so does the panic and the inability to care for those great numbers stricken down until…”

“They’re not being cared for properly. Gloves aren’t being worn when bed linens are changed. Next thing you know it’s spreading faster and faster until…”

“The country locked down. The Olympics canceled or moved elsewhere. Economy suffers. Medical care suffers. The people suffer and die. Russia is destroyed in one fell swoop by an enemy that its ally Winter can do nothing stop because it does not hibernate nor fear the cold.”

“Who would do this?” John asked in horror.

“They have many enemies. From gay rights activists around the world to their nearby neighboring countries. France seems to be implicated since Allard was killed there. So is England since Persano was killed here as well.”

“Silver Blaze!” John gasped, “The horse! He could be carrying the parasite! He’s still in France!”

“We’d have heard something by now. I suspect Persano tried to spare him since he was his favorite. To be sure the horse would not survive the parasite.”

“Then Persano likely had a touch of conscience and tried to back out of it?” John asked.

“It would look that way. He may have been disposing of the parasites when one of them accidentally infected him. Or he may have been infecting the horses. The issue is: where are the 999 other horses?”

“So Russia is safe?”

“For now. Unless those horses made it out of the country.”

“Are _we_ safe?” John asked in alarm.

“I am,” Sherlock replied, giving John a grave look, “I trust they gave you a shot?”

“Had me on the loo for an hour.”

“Good. They’ll flush the sewers with anti-parasitic medications and slip them into people’s food for the next month. This business will all be handled silently, no doubt. Just a nasty stomach virus. No need to alarm the public,” Sherlock said this last bit with sarcasm and an eye roll. Sherlock disliked government procedure, despite his brother’s involvement- or perhaps because of it.

“Right then, so we can leave?”

“Once I’ve been disinfected,” Sherlock nodded.

“For the record… you’ll be bottoming for the next week.”

“Why is that? You’re all nice and cleaned out,” Sherlock chuckled.

“I feel like I’ve been cleaned out with _sandpaper_.”

“Hmmm, not so sexy then, eh?”

“Not really, no.”

Sherlock blew John a kiss and then headed for an exit with a shouted promise to return. John was led to a debriefing room where Mycroft made attempts to intimidate him and he rolled his eyes until the man told him to stop before they rolled out of his head and dismissed him. He met up with Sherlock, similarly attired but looking damn fine, and they were packed away in a black sedan to be dropped off at Baker Street.

What followed was a search for the horses, starting at harbors and working their way towards other avenues of storage. Nothing turned up for weeks, and then a man was struck down at a circus visiting from out of the country. The infected man, a clown at Barrowman’s Big Gay Tent Show for Adults, was dead before John and Sherlock were dropped off. To their alarm they were greeted by the Master of Show… with a thick Ukrainian accent. Within a few seconds Sherlock had their schedule sussed out. They were returning to Ukraine within a week, likely bringing the disease with them, but they had _no_ horses in their act whatsoever. That meant any animal and human was a suspected carrier.

“This is bad, Sherlock,” John whispered as he led them on a tour of their facility, “You think Russia has turned this thing around? Or did someone from Ukraine get infected while trying to attack Russia?”

“Possibly either.”

“We need to find something to… I don’t know… eradicate this parasite.”

“John!” Sherlock scolded, turning on him, “Everything has a right to live!”

“It. Kills. Humans.”

“Not in it’s natural lifecycle it doesn’t.”

“It’s not _in_ its natural lifecycle. It’s in _our_ lifecycle.”

“That’s genocide.”

“It’s pesticide.”

“It’s _wrong_.”

“Since when are you all moral?”

Sherlock paused, squirmed where he stood, and then confessed, “I like them.”

“You what?”

“They’re interesting.”

“Interesting. Right,” John nodded, “Okay then. Let’s go save the worms, but can we save the humans, too?”

“Of course,” Sherlock nodded.

They continued their investigation, collecting samples and quickly analyzing them while wearing full body contamination suits. It was paramount to find the cause before the circus opened in two hours. For the moment Mycroft was working with them, but once the time limit ran out he would shut down the circus rather than let the public be contaminated. Unfortunately, though they analyzed the feces from everyone and everything in the area, dirt samples, food and feed samples, and water samples, nothing produced the results they’d expected.

“Sherlock, that can’t be it,” John insisted, “There has to be _something_ here!”

Sherlock stood up, planning on answering, but was interrupted by one of the agents heading over with a look of horror on his face.

“There’s been another?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, sir. This time a carnival. Six people in all, four of them children.”

“Shit,” John breathed, standing up and looking anxiously at Sherlock, “We still don’t have a damn cure!”

“They’re on their way to a hospital that specializes in internal medicine where a specialist will be looking over them,” The man explained as he led them away to the decontamination booth.

Their suits were steamed clean, becoming boiling hot inside, and then quickly removed so they could hurry to the next scene. However, on the way there Sherlock came up with a new plan. He wanted to infiltrate the scene rather than swoop in and inspect it. He got on the phone and argued it out with Mycroft for nearly half an hour before he got permission. He then started arguing it out with _John_.

“If you’re going to risk all those people at the carnival by not shutting it down while you study it, you’ve got to be willing to risk me, Sherlock. Two of us being there will speed up the process.”

Sherlock struggled through the idea, his hand clasping John’s tightly for a moment. He stared out the car window and then moved sharply. Before John could react he’d been struck hard in the gut and another blow to the back of his head had him out cold. When he came to it was to see Mycroft smirking down at him. He pulled himself upright and Mycroft sat down beside him.

“How long was I out?” John asked, rubbing the back of his head.

“A few minutes, but you won’t be able to follow him. I’m taking you home.”

“This is bullshit and you know it!”

“Your life is more precious to Sherlock than you know.”

“More than those kids who are catatonic right now, obviously!”

“If we don’t find the source, we can’t stop it from happening to more people.”

“He’s in danger!”

“We’ve no evidence of that. In this adventure _you’re_ the one at risk, not Sherlock.”

John sat back with a frustrated sigh and when he was let off at Baker Street he exited without a word to Mycroft. He stomped up the stairs, but a feeling coursed through him that had him turning around and wandering back down. He had a feeling that something was off in the house but he couldn’t place what it was. Finally he backtracked all the way downstairs and left the building entirely. Standing outside he stared up at the front of the building and carefully categorized everything he saw using Sherlock’s methods to the best of his ability. When that failed to show him what was going on, he stepped through the door and started on the front hall. A picture was crooked. John stepped forward and stared at it, noticing that fingerprints marred the front. He looked down the hall and what was off finally hit him. Mrs. Hudson’s door was open. Not fully open, but open a crack. The mat that sat inside her door was shoved aside as though it had been tripped over, partially sticking out the door and keeping it open.

John rushed forward and pushed the door open to find Mrs. Hudson on the floor. He took her pulse and looked her over and confirmed what he had feared from the start. Mrs. Hudson was catatonic, and all symptoms pointed towards the parasite. The room stinked of feces, but John had no time to worry about the state of her bloomers. John pulled out his mobile and called Mycroft first, his thoughts entirely on the hospital, but someone kicked the phone out of his hand.

“Don’t move,” A voice spoke, deep and heavily accented. A gun pressed on the back of his head and John sighed in frustration. There were at least two, the one who had kicked him and the one behind him holding a gun to his head. They were dressed as clowns, but to say they smelled _funny_ was an understatement. It was _them_ that stank, not Mrs. Hudson. They were sweating beneath their thick, makeup but showed no sign of illness.

“She needs medical attention,” John told them.

“She has a week before it is fatal,” The man in front of John spoke, “Pick her up. We’re going for little ride.”

After a short ride in a beat up green car John found himself carefully fastening a drooling Mrs. Hudson into a helicopter that took off into the air, piloted by a third man. It wasn’t long before it was flying over the Thames and John stared down at the bridge in horror. There was the carnival off to one side and there seemed to be a parade crossing the Thames from it to the other side. Sherlock was down there, he just knew it. The men in the helicopter did, too, and they pulled out a megaphone.

“Mr. Holmes! You will jump into the river, taking the medicine with you, or we will start throwing your loved ones out! The woman is already unconscious! The man will follow in less than an hour!”

_I’m infected!_ John realized in horror.

The man on the megaphone lowered it and grinned at him wickedly. He held up a matchbox and slid it open. It was empty. It took John several minutes to realize what that meant. Then he stared at each of them in horror. The stink from the men suddenly made a very sick sense. They were covered with infested fecal matter!

_We’re_ all _infected. We’re all just waiting to die. Worse, we’re all waiting to infect everyone else!_

They stayed hovering up there while police helicopters surrounded them and John’s eyes roved the bridge. Sherlock wasn’t visible to him, or at least not recognizable.

“He’s got the cure?” John questioned.

“He took it from our man,” One of the men, the taller of the two, explained to him, “We have to get it away from him. Destroying is fastest route.”

“He won’t do it. Then we’ll die,” John explained, “You have to give him a way out.”

They debated it in another language, shouting at each other over the roar of the propellers, but finally one of them decided Sherlock’s time limit was over and Mrs. Hudson was snapped out of her safety restraints. John dove for them and a fight broke out. The man piloting the craft got kicked in the head and the helicopter spun, heading for the Thames. He got it under control in the nick of time and all the occupants- who had stopped fighting to cling to each other and scream in terror- realized they were still alive and went back to fighting. The only relief was that both guns had slid out of the craft so they were now on equal footing.

It was then that John made peace with the truth: if these men were the carriers but were unaffected it was because they’d taken an antidote. They could spread the illness without fear, so it was up to John to stop them from spreading it to the world, but he couldn’t overcome two larger, trained men in an enclosed space with no weapon handy. He glanced at Mrs. Hudson and gave up a silent apology before leaping forward, twisting out of his current assailant’s arms, and snapping the neck of the pilot. The men behind John screamed, but were too busy holding on to the seats to stop John as he took hold of the shifter and sent them plummeting towards the Thames. John glanced back to see Mrs. Hudson had fallen at some point. It sent a jolt of pain through his chest to have ended her life, but he knew it was necessary.

They hit the water hard enough to knock John out for a few seconds, but he was awake before the water fully submerged them all. He struggled up, trying to wriggle free, but a grip on his ankle dragged him back down for a moment as the person inside used him as leverage to get free.

_Two can play at that game!_ John thought as he grabbed back and savagely broke the man’s ankle. He screamed and then began to flounder in the water. The other man wasn’t visible. John swam towards shore as fast as he could, his limbs weak with exhaustion and heavy with sorrow. Finally he was tugged out of the water by a rescue craft, the occupants throwing him a towel and telling him they were ordered to take him directly to hospital. They moved quickly and were met at the dock by an ambulance. John struggled onto the dock and let out a shout of joy as he saw Mrs. Hudson being loaded onto another ambulance from a craft across from them. He couldn’t get close, but he could see them pumping air into her manually and was relieved to see her eyes moving. Sherlock jumped off that boat and came running up to John. The droid was wearing what looked like a spotted sheet, but on second glance was a very baggy white clown suit with colorful spots that had gotten so wet it was hanging down like a sheet. His face had smears of white make-up still visible around his ears and hairline along with a red smear on his chin.

“Please tell me there are pictures,” John stated the second he got close to him.

Sherlock’s response was to grab John’s arm and tug up his sleeve. He held up a syringe and would have jabbed it into John’s arm had he not grabbed him.

“Mrs. Hudson is worse off,” John stated.

“I’ve only enough for one of you!” Sherlock shouted, his face wracked with pain.

John’s stomach twisted, “Then we can’t use it. It needs to go to the labs.”

“You’re the younger of the two…”

“There are infected _children_.”

“I don’t care about them!” Sherlock shouted, clearly near tears.

“Sherlock,” John gave him a shake, “It’s not about us.”

Lestrade took the syringe out of Sherlock’s hand and headed for the nearby men swarming forward in suits. Sherlock looked back at it in misery, then towards John again.

“We might not get it duplicated in time. I could lose you,” Sherlock stated, his eyes wide with fear.

John surged forward and kissed him heatedly, their tongues dueling for nearly a minute before they came up for air. Looking at Sherlock’s eyes, the worry in them and the longing for John to make it better, he found he had no words. Sometimes Sherlock was so much like a child that it was daunting, but John usually knew how to step it up and be the adult. This time, however, he had no idea how to comfort Sherlock. It was unlikely that he’d even be conscious in half an hour. Sherlock refused to let John go as he led him to the ambulance.

So far if they got someone infected a dose of typical anti-parasitic medications before they reached the state of unconsciousness they were fine, but once it got to the brain and they became catatonic the parasite was able to withstand the medication. Brain surgery could remove it, but when it had been attempted the first time the patient had died of complications. The good news was that the parasite wasn’t eating the brain itself, it was simply setting up residence and the resulting swollen sack put pressure on the brain and caused what was likely temporary damage. There were now more patients than could be flown to the specialist Mycroft had located, and with a cure in hand duplicating it was the best option.

Sadly for John the time limit was almost up and it was far too soon before he began to feel confused.

“Sherlock?” John asked, “Why are we here? Where are we?”

“Just relax, John, I’m going to take care of you,” Sherlock soothed, stroking his hair as the ambulance started up, “I got Mrs. Hudson out of the water, now I’ll get you out of danger.”

“Sherlock? What… why… are you orange?”

Sherlock glanced sideways at John, “You’re seeing me as orange?”

“Yeah.”

“What else looks off to you?”

John stared around him, “Is the tent blue?”

“No. We aren’t in a tent.”

“Is your head swollen?”

“No.”

“Is that a child over there?”

“No.”

“Are your eyes glowing?”

“No.”

“Sherlock?” John called, starting to feel afraid, “I can’t move my legs.”

“I’ll fix it,” Sherlock stated, his tone calm.

The next time John tried to speak his tongue wouldn’t work and he drooled on himself. It was the last straw for him, and he closed his eyes and mouth tightly, refusing to weep at the frustration. Just as his mind was beginning to go dark and fuzzy he heard Sherlock speaking to someone from what sounded like a long, long tunnel.

“Take him to surgery. Get that _thing_ out of his head.”

John woke up in the hospital, glancing around himself anxiously. Sherlock was nearby, plugged into the wall and tapping his feet anxiously as he waited for his battery to reach full charge.

“John!” Sherlock bolted to him the second he saw him awake, yanking the plug out of the wall as he went, “John, say something. Anything!”

“Shut it, my head hurts. And plug yourself back in, you git.”

Sherlock smiled, relief in his eyes, and pressed a kiss to John’s temple.

“I’ve brought you a wig to wear until your hair grows back. No one can know you had brain surgery. It all has to be a secret. Damn Mycroft,” Sherlock replied cheerfully, dropping into his chair and plugging in the charger.

“What are we telling people?”

“Food poisoning. The ‘carnival’ folk were all arrested. I got a remedy together while you were in surgery. They pulled three masses the size of a golf balls out of your brain.”

“The medicine worked?”

“You were too far advanced to need it unless you pulled through the surgery. They’ll give it to you shortly just in case. I’ll fetch someone.”

“You’ll stay right there,” John scolded, pushing the call button, “There. Finish. Charging.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Sherlock teased, saluting.

 

John’s blog entry wouldn’t be posted until after the e-bomb at St. Bart’s, and it would be necessarily vague due to the Official Secrets Act.  
  
  
Sources:

[ **http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persano_horse** ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persano_horse) **As I can find little reference in canonical Sherlock for either ‘Matchbox’ or ‘Persano’ aside from a case barely mentioned noted as** [ **The Confusion of Isadora Persano** ](http://sherlocked.wikia.com/wiki/The_Confusion_of_Isadora_Persano) **, I have found a few random dots and connected them like a crazy person.**

**“ _The Persano is a_** [ **_horse breed_ ** ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horse_breed) **_created at the Royal Stud of Persano near_ ** [ **_Serre_ ** ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serre_%28SA%29) **_in the_ ** [ **_Italian_ ** ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italy) [ **_province of Salerno_ ** ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Province_of_Salerno) **_. The Persano proved to be tough enough for the conditions encountered in the Russian steppe, a claim which few foreign horses can make.”_ **

**" _A third case worthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the well-known journalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a match box in front of him which contained a remarkable worm said to be unknown to science._ "  
  
  
**

[CHAPTER 2](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/149228.html)

 


	2. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 2

[Blog Entry- Many Happy Returns](http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/05october)  
^First mention of Mary as something other than a blog friend  
[Mini Episode - Many Happy Returns](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwntNANJCOE)

Toppling Moriarty’s empire had been child’s play compared to hunting down the individuals who escaped the first raid by either luck or skill. They scattered around the world as quickly as their sizable fortunes would let them and Sherlock spent most of the two years he was away from John trying to locate them. Eventually he was down to just a few more so he took it by proximity, slowly working his way back to England.

He started by infiltrating a monastery in Lhassa Tibet, a simple task since the head lama owed him a favor. There he searched out the woman who had chosen to hide in an admittedly clever location. She was doubly clever and had disguised her face and head beneath a very realistic rubber headpiece and makeup. However criminals always missed _something_ , and she was no exception. During evening prayers he disguised himself as his abbot friend and took a glance at the hands and wrists of each monk. It wasn’t long before he found appendages that were clearly female. He flipped back her hood and ripped off the rubber disguise, shocking all those around him and drawing a curse from the woman.

“Oh shut up,” Sherlock snarled, “As if a life of devotion would have satisfied you for long.”

Next he was off to New Delhi where the man he’d been tracking had gotten bored and started off a killing spree. Well, to be fair, he’d started off a gang which ran an ‘insurance’ scheme by beating or even killing people when they didn’t pay their ‘dues’. Sherlock was chasing them high and low for days and they always managed to elude him down alleys and even climbing walls. He knew the main leader was the one who made all the kills- he’d seen his style before- so he really only needed to catch _one_ of them and the rest would wander off in ignominy. Therefore, when he reached a crime scene on the third straight day with exactly 100-degree weather and saw the victim sitting in front of a melted ice cream cone he knew _exactly_ how to locate his murderer.

He grabbed the nearest knife, cut the cone down the middle while kneeling on the floor with a ruler in his teeth, and quickly measured the depth that the highest chocolate flake had sunk to. Then he held the ruler steady and counted out a minute while watching more sink down. Then he did a series of quick calculations, pulled out a map, quickly circled the area that needed searching, and ordered the police squad to search between the indicated streets, knocking on every door as they went. Within fifteen minutes they had him and Sherlock took the small commission he’d been promised and left the credit behind.

Finally off to Hamburg where he took the place of a juror in order to make sure Herr Trepoff didn’t get off for murdering his wife while…

Sherlock froze. Right there in the streets of Hamburg with a paper cup full of oil with a straw protruding from it he _froze,_ because a beautiful blonde female was kneeling in front of him with a curious look on her face.

An android saw, of course, but not with their eyes; those were for displaying emotion and appearing more humanoid. Sherlock had a number of sensors, but the lens that let him see was a single, central one located in between his eyes, hidden beneath a very thin layer of ‘skin’- if one looked closely it could be seen through the semi-transparent material. However, being a machine, he didn’t only see what was in front of him. He could also ‘see’ inside his memory banks- or Mind Palace- and he could ‘see/hear’ any audio-visual equipment he had programmed to send images and/or sounds to his central processor. As a creature of superior intelligence he could process more than a hundred separate ‘screens’ worth of visual images with audio at once without it impeding his function. However, it appeared he was still subject to _emotional_ shock since the female kneeling in front of him was actually kneeling in front of an activated Hoffnig, who was programmed to send everything he ‘saw’ and ‘heard’ to Sherlock so he could experience it as well.

“Well,” She smiled softly, “So _you’re_ my competition. Hello Sherlock.”

“My designation is Hoffnig. Where is designation John?”

“Oh, he’s at work. I’m on my lunch break and I just popped by to see you. He’s shown you to me, obviously. He doesn’t believe in secrets, the poor thing, but you see _I_ do. You won’t tell him, will you? He’s only just given me a key. Trust issues.”

“I must go find John.”

“No! Oh, no, you can’t! Just… I just want to know if he still turns you on.”

“I have not been activated for six months according to the data my processors have received upon return to function.”

“Okay, but do you still turn _him_ on?”

“John is not an android and does not require activation.”

“I suppose that answers my question in a way. You see, I’m not the jealous type but I just had to _know_. He’s wonderful, you know. I don’t deserve him.”

_Damn straight you don’t!_ Sherlock thought, and then pulled himself out of his shocked moment to focus on what he was ‘seeing’ as he deduced the female in front of him.

_Cat Lover, Disillusioned, Lover, Bakes own Bread, Size 12, Liar, Lib, Dem, Clever, Only Child, Nurse, Guardian, Part Time, Near Sighted, Linguist, Secret Tattoo._

“I must go find John,” Hoffnig declared.

“Sorry, luv, but that won’t be happeningm” The female’s hand reached up and caressed Hoffnig’s cheek, making Sherlock wince away and then scowl when he recalled she couldn’t actually _touch_ him, “It’s such a shame you’re so pretty. I really wanted to beat you senseless for what you did to him. Do you know you broke him when you jumped?”

“John is broken? I must find John. It is an essential part of my programming to keep him from breaking.”

“Hold on there, soldier!” The woman reached up and pulled out Hoffnig’s plug but it didn’t deactivate him, “Damn! What’s going on? Why aren’t you turning off?!”

“He doesn’t need a plug to run,” John’s voice reached Sherlock’s ears through Hoffnig’s speakers. It brought tears to his eyes, “You powered him up and the plug being in at least partially charged his batteries. He’s going to take time to run down again.”

“John! I just… I was just curious. I wanted to see if he’d talk to me.”

“What did you think you could ask him that you couldn’t ask me?” John wanted to know.

Hoffnig turned his head and Sherlock got his first look of John in six months. He was gorgeous, and a part of Sherlock raged as he realized how much better John looked now. _She did this. She healed him. She did what I couldn’t by leaving Hoffnig behind. She stopped John from breaking._

“It isn’t that,” the female protested, “I just… I wanted to meet Sherlock Holmes.”

“ _That thing_ ,” John spoke with venom in his voice, “Isn’t Sherlock Holmes! _That thing_ is an animated corpse!”

“That you won’t get rid of,” The female said softly.

“Not your business.”

“I love you. I’m going to be moving in with you soon. I…”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“I can’t trust you with a key to my flat, what makes you think I still want us moving in together?” John demanded angrily.

“Don’t, John. Don’t push me away. I’m sorry I hurt you, I _really_ am, but it was out of love, not malice. I just needed to meet him. Go into the other room. I’ll stay with him until he powers down and then I’ll put him away. I never meant you to see him turned on.”

John hesitated, his face flickering between emotions. That bare, raw, wounded look was back, the look that Sherlock had gotten used to seeing during the ten months after his faked death before John had let him run down; the look that had been easing towards the end of that ten month period. The look that almost vanished whenever his phone rang and he answered it with _Mary! I’m so glad you called!_ before hurrying away so he wasn’t in the same room with Hoffnig.

“Okay,” John stated softly, “Alright. Then we’re going to talk.”

“Yes, we are,” Mary agreed softly once the door shut, “And I’m not letting you get away from me so easily John Watson. You won’t survive and some mad part of me would die without you.”

_She saved him. From me._

XXX

John was glad to see Greg, but not so cheered by the overwhelming emotions that came with him. He sat there, watching the video with Sherlock on it. The real Sherlock. Sentient Sherlock. Not Hoffnig. He missed him. He couldn’t lie about that, and it gave him a jolt when the damn thing seemed to answer his plea for Sherlock to not be dead.

Mary showed up then. They’d just had their first and only fight the day before, about Hoffnig of all things, and she’d not put up with his shit. Just like he’d never put up with Sherlock’s. She really was a wonder. John welcomed her in after hitting pause, but it came on in time for Mary and John to walk in on Sherlock’s trademark smile and wink. Mary thought it was adorable and asked to see the whole thing over again, laughing at his attitude towards people and generally handing John the closure he needed so badly.

_How does she do that? How does she make it okay?_

They tired of it finally and put on the news only for Sherlock’s face to show up once more. John had a moment of ‘look, we’re on the news again’ before he recalled that wasn’t the case. Sherlock was dead and the news was just _about_ him.

“I don’t believe it,” Mary beamed, “They’ve cleared his name! Oh, John, this is wonderful!”

John smiled back, though it was forced and Mary saw that it was and pulled him close.

_Damn it, Sherlock, if you’d just waited a bit longer. You didn’t have to die. You didn’t have to leave me. I could have hidden you until it blew over. Or at least… at least you could have let me follow you to wherever androids go when they die._

Mary pressed a kiss to his temple and rubbed his arm.

“You really love him, don’t you?” She asked softly.

“Loved. You said love. Past tense. _Loved_.”

“It’s not past tense,” She replied softly.

“It is. He’s dead and gone, and even if he wasn’t I love _you_ now.”

Mary turned his head and pressed a kiss to his lips, “I’m not questioning your love John, but it’s not past tense. And that’s _fine_.”

John turned on the sofa and laid his head on her chest as he’d done so many times before they’d been a couple when he just couldn’t stand to look at Hoffnig anymore but hadn’t yet gotten up the heart to shut him down. Mary held him gently, stroking his hair and being the best damn girlfriend in the world.

_I’m going to marry this woman. I’m going to marry her and have children and name_ none _of them Sherlock and be really fucking happy. So there. Take that, Sherlock Holmes. You don’t even get a Watson named after you. Not after what you did. Not after you left me. Not after you broke the promise you made in Baskerville not to break me._

 

<http://buddy2blogger.blogspot.com/2013/12/many-happy-returns-sherlock-christmas-episode-review-recap-summary.html>  
^Some collected facts from another website

[CHAPTER 3](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/149527.html)


	3. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 3

<http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/07november>

From Germany Sherlock had gone briefly to France to chase after Lord Moran, the last of Moriarty’s network, while he was conveniently out of England on vacation. His security would be far more lax outside of his usual realm. However, before he could move in on him Sherlock found himself fleeing as far as possible from England as his realization that John was not waiting for him at home hit him in full. He ended up in Serbia, going after Baron Maupertuis despite his previous resolve not to. The man was dangerous. The task was suicide. It was better left to MI6 or the Serbians themselves. Instead he broke in and found himself imprisoned not once, but twice after a failed escape attempt.

He was just talking his way into a second escape attempt when the second guard spoke. He had already been sitting when Sherlock had been brought in, had been silent and hidden in shadows. He had no data on him other than that he was posh and English by his shoes. Then the man spoke and there was simply no mistaking that voice, even while speaking a language he thought the man hadn’t known. He smiled softly.

_Someone did miss me. Someone looked. Someone saw._

So Sherlock talked the other fellow out the door and Mycroft strode up to him in his entire arrogant swagger.

“So my friend. Now it’s just you and me,” Mycroft spoke in Serbian, “You have no idea the trouble it took to find you.”

Mycroft grabbed him tightly by the hair and switched to English, “Now you listen to me. There’s an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry but the holiday is over, brother dear. Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock smiled, lifting his face to stare up at his brother. In a few sentences Mycroft had bared all; his anger at the deception, his understanding that Sherlock was running away from John, an excuse for Sherlock to return anyway, a comforting reminder that he was still his brother, that he still had a home waiting for him, and that he was not free to become Moriarty permanently.

“How did you find me?” Sherlock wanted to know, “How did you figure it out?”

“Please,” Mycroft scoffed, “I’ve been building androids since I was first able to grip a screwdriver. Do you really think that lead box fooled me? Even if Moriarty hadn’t suddenly handed MI6 his own organization and then gone on a hunt for the rest of his network it was obvious that you were out there _somewhere_.”

XXX

John opened his door, alarmed at the banging in the middle of the night and assuming the worst, to find Molly standing there looking pale and drawn.

“I need Hoffnig.”

“What?”

“Hoffnig. I need Hoffnig.”

“The android? Sherlock’s body? Why? What could you…?”

“He isn’t yours. You don’t have a claim to him. Legally he can’t be owned. Mycroft wants him back and he’s sent me to get him,” Molly stated, her tone full of anxiety that John missed in his instant anger.

“Fine. I’ve never claimed to _own_ him. Though how _Mycroft_ can either I don’t know. I suppose he’s a right to get his brother back if he wants him. He could have come here himself, though.”

John turned and headed inside, leaving Molly standing shakily in the doorway. He came out with Hoffnig in his arms and sat him down on the sofa.

“Thank y-“ Molly started.

“There. Take him. And lock the front door behind you,” John slammed his bedroom door and shouted back through it, “And don’t bring him back!”

“John?” Mary asked in concern, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, “Why did you take…”

“Molly came for Hoffnig. Apparently Mycroft wants him back and is claiming he owns him more than I do.”

“No he doesn’t!” Mary snapped, standing up and heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get him back!”

“Mary, no!” John grabbed her arm and pulled her in close, “Stay here.”

“But they can’t just…”

John crushed her to him, pressing their lips together. He needed to feel her. He needed to feel like a man tonight. Too often his ardor failed him, but Mary was always so patient. She claimed she didn’t need that from him, she needed his heart more than his body. He always made sure to pleasure her in other ways, keeping her satisfied despite his body failing him so often.

“I don’t deserve you,” He whispered, pressing her down into the bed.

“Funny,” Mary whispered as he slid his hands up her thighs, slowly lifting her silky nighty, “That’s what I woke up Hoffnig to tell him.”

“No more about him,” John demanded, nipping along her neck, “It’s you I want to discuss in our bed.”

“ _Our_ bed. I am so glad you changed your mind about that,” Mary teased.

“Mmm, as if I could resist you.”

They lay together for some time, kissing and stroking. John rubbed his groin against her soft body and reveled in the feel of silk between their bodies. He was just working up a good rhythm, his cock slowly hardening, when Mary snored softly. John sighed, sagging on top of her.

_If it isn’t me going soft it’s her going to sleep!_

John sighed and rolled off of her. Sometimes it was like this- pointless and frustrating. She was all he had, though, and she had so little as well, being an orphan. Somehow they found happiness. They could laugh and have fun despite their nearly inactive sex life. John wondered more than once if she were seeking pleasure elsewhere, but at times like this he hoped she was. She deserved a man who didn’t take a damned _hour_ to get hard. She gave him her love and devotion. If she found what else she needed with someone else he could hardly blame her.

_After all, I’m the one who wanks to old blog entries when she isn’t home. And isn’t that the same thing?_

XXX

“Now then,” Sherlock stated, staring down at his old body with a greedy longing in his heart, “The program practically runs itself…”

“Why isn’t Mycroft doing this? He’s the expert.” Molly asked, shifting miserably as she glanced around St. Bart’s mortuary in alarm.

“I don’t trust him.”

“He’s your brother!”

“He’s a politician,” Sherlock scoffed, “You can’t trust them! Don’t get me wrong, he’ll always be my brother, but I can’t trust him with my _soul_. Now you, on the other hand, Molly. Well… I’d rather tell you that with my own face on.”

“It is rather odd. You being Jim.”

“Yes. Now then. As I was saying, the program practically runs itself. All you’ll have to do is pop out the USB when it’s done. Then you’ll tug out the box like you did the first time and put it back in my proper body. Mycroft has fiddled with it, so I’ve already pulled out the Hoffnig bits for you. Just put me back in there and twist the wires up. I’ll finish it up. Then we’ll dispose of Moriarty’s remains. I think melting him down will do, don’t you?”

“I suppose. It feels a bit odd, you know? I mean, he _was_ my boyfriend… sort of.”

“Do dry up,” Sherlock scoffed, “Come now, Molly, let’s begin.”

Sherlock gave his reflection one last glare in a nearby metal collection pan. Soon it wouldn’t be Moriarty’s narrow features glaring back at him. Soon he would be Sherlock Holmes in full once more. And who was Sherlock Holmes without his blogger?

_I suppose I’ll find out_. _I won’t take him from his happiness, but perhaps he’ll let me join him in it. Whether as friends or something more…_

Sherlock opened his (Moriarty’s) chest up and carefully showed Molly which wires to cut and where they should re-attach in Hoffnig’s body. The lead box in his chest would remain in place. It would keep his sentience intact even through another e-bomb.

“Don’t worry about melting anything over the wires. I’ll take care of that when I come round.”

“Okay, sure,” Molly stuttered, then waited until Sherlock was laying down to reach into his chest.

“Three,” Sherlock counted down, “Two…”

“One,” Molly whispered, and then recited his shut down code.

_Sherlock woke up in Molly’s flat, his hands removed quite neatly and his ankles chained to a large ring that had been drilled into the floor in the bedroom. He looked around himself in horror, shifting until he was able to stand on his own two feet. His frantic glance around the pink-on-pink-with-white-good-gods-doilies-everywhere room revealed something of absolute horror to him._

_“No!” He shouted at the sight of the mirror, “NO!”_

_“Jim? Jim, what’s wrong?” Molly called, stepping into the room with a worried look on her face, “Jim, darling what is it? Have you had a nightmare?”_

_“Jim? No. No, I’m Sherlock. I’m Sherlock Holmes. You were supposed to_ move me _into the right body!”_

_“What on earth are you talking… you’ve had that dream again. Jim, we discussed this. Sit down, love. There’s a good lad.”_

_Sherlock sank down, his arms shaking as the feeling of helplessness rushed up to choke him. He was bound. Chained. Trapped. By a_ woman _of all things._

_“I saved you, dear. You nearly died in that e-bomb two years ago. I’ve been protecting you.”_

_“No. No, I was out destroying Moriarty’s network,” Sherlock replied, his voice still that hated Irish brogue, “I stopped it. Now I can re-join John and…”_

_“John is with someone else now. He’s moved on after Sherlock’s death. You and he never had anything together and you never will. I know it’s confusing. You’ve made up a whole life that never existed. John_ never loved you _. He never will. I do, though. I love you dearly and I’m going to keep taking care of you until you’re well enough to leave here. Until the good outweighs the bad.”_

_So saying Molly pressed a kiss to his cheek and hurried out of the room with a comforting smile. Sherlock stared after her in horror and then stood again and stared at the mirror over her vanity. He couldn’t reconcile that face as his own. Not even after two years trapped in it. No one was going to convince him it was his. Not ever._

Sherlock gasped and his eyes flew open as he bolted awake.

“Oh! Careful!” Molly cried out, darting forward with her hands held up.

Sherlock toppled off the exam table with a terrified shout and scooted backwards until he had his back against a wall. A wire in his open chest slipped and his arm started to convulse. He stared down at it in confusion. It was _his_ arm. _His_ hand. His hands weren’t missing at all. They were there. Attached. Sherlock Holmes’ arms and hands, not Moriarty’s.

“Molly, what’s going on?! Why was I in your room a moment ago? Why did I still have Moriarty’s body?!”

“What? But you weren’t! You’ve been here with me! Let me… just let me… stop running from me, I’m trying to help!”

Sherlock had scooted awkwardly backwards, half crawling with one arm disabled, but Molly was chasing after him with fear in her eyes. Fear for him. He froze.

“Sherlock,” She whimpered, tears in her eyes, “It’s me. It’s Molly. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Yes. I… I’m sorry, Molly. I must… I must have had a nightmare.”

Molly knelt before him, “What do I do?”

Sherlock plucked a wire free and his arm went limp, “Get me some wire snips, a acetone torch, the lead I told you to melt, and…”

Molly jumped up to do as he ordered while he continued to rattle off his list of needs. By the time she returned he had himself under control, calm and collected and no longer shamefully _hysterical_ from a bloody ridiculous nightmare. Finally he had himself properly put together with enough seals in place to keep him ‘alive’ forever. Then the seals were put over his torso and they both washed up.

“You have _no idea_ how good it feels to…” Sherlock stopped. He’d just noted the clock on the wall. Hours had passed. Hours longer than should have, “Molly. How long did my transfer take?”

“Umm, let’s see. The memory download only took about four hours, but then when I tried to power you up it said you were low on things and…”

Sherlock laughed at himself and his paranoia, “I’ve been amongst those I can’t trust for too long. So you went to market to refill me? What all did you fill?”

“Well… everything,” Molly blushed, looking away, “You’ll need it all, won’t you?”

“I should hope so,” Sherlock winked, “Though I wish I could have been there when you asked them for android semen.”

“Yes well… Molly turned a shade of red that should have only been attainable through terrible illness, “If John complains about the flavor you can tell him to buy it himself next time.”

Sherlock laughed out loud and Molly joined him, hands over her face in embarrassment. She looked lovely and so much more confident than the last time he’d seen her. She also looked engaged.

“Alright then,” Sherlock chuckled, “Where’s John?”

“I’ve no idea,” Molly replied, “After what I pulled I doubt he’s talking to me.”

“No worries. I’ll bother Mycroft. He wants to talk to me about some terrorist threat anyway. Ta!”

So saying he pushed through the doors to the morgue and headed off to relearn London and his Blogger.

XXX

“New hair? Honestly,” Mycroft scolded, “You couldn’t trust me to reactivate you in your proper body, but you want me to give you _new hair_? Do I look like your personal servant?”

Sherlock was laying back on Mycroft’s table while the man plucked out all his old hair and threaded in new hair. This was properly done once every ten years when the hair began to fray or fade, but Sherlock’s proper body was long overdue. They were nearly done when Mycroft changed the subject from the terrorist threat to his hair.

“You’re the one coming to me about a case. After watching me be chained up and beaten, I might add. Did you enjoy that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Do you know how difficult it was to…”

“Definitely enjoyed it,” Sherlock scoffed.

“I will admit to curiosity,” Mycroft sighed, “It seems you’re not the damaged child you once were. When they brought you in I expected screaming and sobbing. You’ve… grown.”

“Thank you. Kindly refrain from sitting on your arse next time I’m getting _beaten_.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. I did get you out.”

“I got myself out. Now. Where’s he going to be tonight?” Sherlock asked, standing up from the table and brushing off some stray hairs before re-donning his jacket.

“Who?”

“John.”

XXX

“I couldn’t face letting it it out,” Mrs. Hudson explained, “He never liked me dusting.”

“Yeah, I know,” John replied idly.

“So why now? What changed your mind?” Mrs. Hudson asked, referring to John’s interest in renting out the rooms again.

“Well, I’ve got some news.”

“Oh no. Is it serious?”

“What? No! No, I’m not ill. I’ve, uh, well, I’m… moving on.”

Mrs. Hudson continued to be her usual confused self and John summoned up his patience to explain to her he was going to ask someone to marry him.

“So soon after Sherlock?”

“Well, considering I moved in with him after knowing him a day, this is actually a bit slow,” John joked.

“What’s his name?” She asked, looking eager for tidbits.

“Mary.”

“A woman!” Mrs. Hudson sounded scandalized.

“Yes, of course it’s a woman,” John replied, letting the irritation slip in.

“You really _have_ moved on, haven’t you?” She asked, her expression clearly doubting the relationship.

“Mrs. Hudson, how many times…?” John took in a deep breathe to calm himself down, “Sherlock was the _only_ man I was ever with. I’m not gay. He was… an exception.”

They both paused, looking sadly down at the floor as they recalled the man and his exceptional ways.

“Well,” Mrs. Hudson replied softly, “You and your lady friend are welcome here. It will be nice to hear the pitter-patter of little feet.”

“Yeah,” John smiled. _If I can ever get it up around her again._

They’d managed the night before and a week before that. He was considering pills, but Mary had told him not to worry. He was increasingly convinced she was with someone else on the side but didn’t want to make that accusation. It only pushed him further into wanting to marry her and keep her for himself. Whoever had her body could have it- he wanted her mind.

_What a reverse of Sherlock and I. I had his mind and wanted his body, but it always seemed out of reach. Perhaps this will resolve itself as well. I suppose I should get any kids we have tested…_

XXX

Sherlock made arrangements with the Landmark on Marylebone Road and donned his sexiest purple shirt and tight pants. The beauty of being an android was he never gained or lost weight so everything still fit him perfectly.

Sherlock knelt in his chamber while John stammered through the most awkward proposal on the face of the earth. Honestly, Sherlock was VERY hard pressed not to jump out and ask Mary to marry him _for_ him. However, he imagined this was a rather important step for John and that he’d ruin his surprise if he did that. He heard them pull the cloth off the paper cake he was crouched in the second Mary gasped out a ‘yes’.

“Oh, no, John!” Mary laughed, “A cake?”

“No, I didn’t order…” John stammered, his chair pushing back.

“Honestly, how will we eat all… oh, is it paper?”

“What… what the hell…” John gasped, “ _Sentient_?”

He’d seen the writing on the cake then. Sherlock jumped up, pushing out of the paper on the top and threw his arms up in the air.

“Surprise!” Sherlock cheered out, holding up a bottle of champaigne and in one hand and three wine glasses in the other.

John gripped his chair while Mary stared at Sherlock in confusion.

“Um… love. I know we’ve been having a bit of trouble in the bedroom but… I really don’t need another man.”

“Trouble in the bedroom?” Sherlock scoffed, “ _Him_? With that irrepressible sexual appetite?”

“What?” Mary asked, her tone not the least bit friendly and her voice a full octave lower.

John’s fist came down on the table and Mary jumped. Sherlock’s smile slid off. Not good. Very not good.

“Oh, well, short version. I’m sentient.”

John clenched and unclenched his jaw.

“Bit mean springing it on you like that, I know,” Sherlock chuckled, using a waiters shoulder to climb down from the cake, “Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will, but in my defense it was very funny.”

John was looking murderous.

“Okay, it’s not a great defense,” Sherlock replied, realizing he was babbling.

“Oh, no, you’re…” Mary whispered, _finally_ catching on.

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock supplied.

“Oh, my God!”

“Not quite.”

“You died, you got hit by an e-bomb.”

“No.”

“You’re _wiped clean_.”

“No, I’m quite sure. I checked. There’s a test,” So saying Sherlock brushed some bits of confetti off his shoulder and then smiled playfully at John, “Does that bit of rubbish wipe off too?”

“Oh my gods! Oh my gods!” Mary gasped, her tone turning outraged and angry, “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done to him?!”

“Okay, John,” Sherlock started, “I’m suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of apology.”

John grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over. A waiter shouted in alarm while people nearby hurriedly left their tables and backed away. Mary jumped but otherwise maintained composure in her chair, trying to soothe John with her words.

“Two years,” John growled, “Two years? You just… sat there in my closet- _in my bed_ \- and pretended you weren’t alive anymore? Hmm? You let me grieve? You let me _wail_ on you? How could you do that? How could you set out to destroy everything I thought we had together?”

“I’ve called the police!” Someone shouted with a terribly fake French accent.

“Wait. Before you do anything that you might regret. Um. One question, just let me ask one question…” Sherlock couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, “Are you really going to keep that?”

John took in a deep breath and grabbed Sherlock by the front of his shirt. Buttons popped off as the man propelled him onto the nearest horizontal surface- the floor- and proceeded to… snog him? While choking him. It was a bit of a mixed signal so Sherlock replied by moaning and groping his arse while Mary tugged John’s hands away from Sherlock’s throat and several waiters intervened to throw them out of the building. They left before the police arrived.

A small café housed them for the next scenario while John sat there, with his arms folded in outrage and waited for an explanation. Mary looked as if she wanted one as well, so Sherlock decided to appease them both.

“You know, for a genius you can be incredibly thick,” John decided.

“What?”

“I don’t want to know how you faked it, Sherlock, I want to know _why_?”

“Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped. Because there are no fair trials for androids. No matter what I proved in the end, I’d have been dismantled. Assuming the best, the code I obtained from him could in fact reintroduce Moriarty as the real person and prove that he and Richard Brook were one and the same, but doing so would set back android rights by years and I _still_ would have had to hunt down his network before they used the code to do more damage. Not to mention the entire brigade of _snipers_ out to kill you! Only Moriarty could call them off, so I… Oh… why as in… I see, yes, why…”

John nodded.

“That’s a bit more difficult to explain.”

“I’ve just kissed you in front of my fiancé. You think I can go home tonight? I’ve got all night.”

“Oh, if you think I’m waiting all night to discuss _that…!_ ” Mary started, but John glared at her and her tone changed, “Sorry. Do go on.”

“You see… you’re a terrible actor, John.”

“Oh. Oh, so this is _my_ fault.”

“You were too much in the eye of Moriarty’s henchmen. Molly on the other hand…”

“Molly knew?” John cut him off.

“He’d have needed a confident,” Mary pointed out, but then registered another glare and apologized once more.

“Who else? Who else knew?” John asked with a sigh.

“No one.”

“No one else?”

“I have very few I can trust, John. Even Molly was a surprise to me, but she offered. She said she saw how sad I looked when I thought you weren’t looking.”

John’s façade of anger cracked and his eyes misted up. Then he grabbed Sherlock dragged him across the table and kiss/bit him. Over all it was extremely confusing for Sherlock’s recently restored libido. He ended up in John’s lap moaning while tugging at his hair and trying to kiss him back around all those teeth. The owner of the café shouted at them to leave before she called the police and called them sots. Mary hit John on the back of the head with a menu to get him to let Sherlock go and they all scrambled out the door. Sherlock’s lip was torn.

“You bit me,” He accused.

“You played dead for two years!”

“I wasn’t playing dead! If you’d let me finish my _first_ explanation,” Sherlock replied, crossing the street into another café, “You’d know that I was in Moriarty’s body. Hoffnig was real. He was supposed to be my book mark, but I underestimated your attraction to my mind versus my body and you went and found Mary instead.”

John leaned against the display case while Mary paced a bit and then did the same. Sherlock snatched up a napkin and wiped John’s saliva from his face.

“I suppose I should be flattered by that,” Mary laughed a bit, “If he weren’t hard as a rock right now.”

John groaned and rubbed at his face with one hand while tugging his jacket down to cover his erection.

“Seriously, it’s not a joke?” Sherlock scoffed, indicating John’s mustache “You’re really keeping this?”

John cleared his throat and glanced at Mary, “Yeah.”

“Sure? It’s terrible to kiss you like that. All… scratchy.”

“ _Mary_ likes it.”

“Mmmm, no she doesn’t.”

“She does.”

“She doesn’t.”

John turned a curious look on Mary who stammered out, “Well, I don’t…”

“Oh, brilliant!” John snapped.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you,” Mary replied consolingly.

“Right, no, no, this is charming. I’ve really missed _this!_ You might as well pack a bag for me, Mary, because Sherlock is the _king_ of ending my relationships! It’s over! Starting with the mustache and ending with you hating me for the rest of our natural lives!”

“May I just point out that you were the one to kiss me in front of her,” Sherlock pointed out.

“We’ll discuss that in private, thank you,” Mary stated firmly.

“Yeah, let’s get that part over with!” John shouted.

“John!” Mary scolded, “Calm down!”

“Why am I the only one who is reacting like a _human being_!” John shouted.

“Overreacting,” Sherlock pointed out.

“John!” Mary repeated, because that had done so much good the first time.

“Overreacting?!” John roared, “So you fake your own death…”

“Shhh…”

“… and you waltz in here large as bloody life but I’m not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it’s a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!”

“Shut up, John! I don’t want everyone knowing I’m still alive!” Sherlock shouted back.

“Oh, so it’s still a secret, is it?”

“Yes, it’s still a secret!” Sherlock shouted, and then recalled how loud they were being and lowered his voice to add, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“SWEAR TO THE GODS!” John shouted, not catching on as usual.

He took a few deep breaths and while he was composing himself Sherlock leaned in to cinch the deal. He knew _exactly_ how to get John interested in him again, and then he’d just have to win over Mary.

“London is in danger, John. There’s an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help.”

John gave him a disbelieving look, “My help?”

Sherlock smirked, “You have missed this, admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world…”

John grabbed him and kissed him again, this time he threw him against the table he’d been standing in front of him so Sherlock ended up sitting and he stood between his legs, grinding his hips against his groin. John shivered and let out a groan against his mouth that…

_Oh my_ , Sherlock’s brilliant computer of a brain stuttered to a halt in the face of John’s pleasure.

“Did you just…?!” Mary gasped.

“Oh my gods,” John gasped, stepping back and looking horrified.

“Well, that was a bit exciting. Is it my turn now? Or shall we do Mary first? Gods, I haven’t come in two years! In my trousers or out! I didn’t even have a penis yesterday!”

“You stay away from me!” John shouted, and fled the establishment in shame.

The owner of this cafe was far more understanding than the last. He was laughing while Mary stared after John in shock.

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock stated, venting his confusion on her, “I said I’m sorry, we kissed and ‘made up’, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“Gosh, you don’t know anything about human nature, do you?” Mary asked.

“Mmm, nature? No… Human? …. No.”

Mary smiled and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, “I’ll talk him round.”

“You will?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Mary nodded, and then headed out to where John was waving at her through the window. He’d caught a cab. Mary disappeared into it and Sherlock watched his beloved drive away with another woman.

XXX

“I just… I’m so…” John stammered once they got home from the most awkward cab ride of his life, “I can’t even apologize for this, can I? Oh my gods... You… you can keep the ring, okay? I don’t want it back. Sell it or… something.”

John turned and headed for the bedroom to change and pack a bag, “I’ll just change and pack up and go. Mrs. Hudson won’t mind me moving in. You can keep this place. The rent is paid up until…”

Mary had followed him into the bedroom and sat down on the bed with a smile.

“I like him.”

“What?” John asked.

“I like him,” She repeated, “He brings out the fire in you.”

“Ah, yeah, among other things,” John reminded, pointing to the damp patch in his trousers as his tone turned incredulous.

Mary shrugged, “He’s a sex bot, right?”

“Yeah?”

“So I bet he can bring that out in me, too,” Mary laughed.

“Are you suggesting…” John stammered, “No. No, Mary, it will never work. He’s gay. Completely gay. He hates women. I mean… Look, I can’t give you specifics because it would be betraying his confidence, but he’s not okay with women touching him or anything. At all.”

“Then I’ll have to earn his trust.”

“I don’t think you can. In fact, I know you can’t. Not even you, as perfect and amazing as you are, could break through Sherlock Holmes’ misogyny.”

“What makes you think I already haven’t?” Mary smiled softly, “You, John Watson, are his pressure point.”

“His pressure point?”

“Of course. You see Sherlock Holmes loves you more than he loves himself.”

“I doubt that, he loves himself quite a bit,” John laughed.

“Never doubt a woman when she talks about love, John,” Mary scolded lightly, “Tell me this: if I was to hold you to this ring you gave me, would you still marry me?”

Marry held up her hand with the ring newly placed on her finger and John stared at it in longing. A future; one that promised love and family, normalcy, and growing old _with_ someone instead of _beside_ someone who never aged and never _damn well grew up_.

“Yes. Absolutely. I’ve committed myself to you, you saved me from… gods, I can’t even say it.”

“Exactly. And Sherlock Holmes is a brilliant bot, so he knows that you wouldn’t leave me for him. Not this time. He’s gone too far and you’ve _come_ to far to go back again. However, he also knows, as do I, that if I were to follow through and force you to chose me over him that you’d eventually come to resent me and our marriage would end. Therefore the solution is a simple one: one to have, one to hold. We’ll make it work with the three of us.”

“What… so… we’re not over?” John asked, a smile slowly blooming across his face.

“No, John. You and I, we’re just beginning.”

John smiled and took a step forward to kiss her before wincing and pulling back.

“You’ll probably want to change out of your trousers and wash up,” Mary giggled.

“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll just be in the loo for a bit.”

MY FAVORITE CAKE GIFS/PICS

<http://24.media.tumblr.com/bd5ee660077efa57e89e7850aed3ffb7/tumblr_mxic58gQJs1r9do03o1_400.gif>

<http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9f/a2/3b/9fa23b7f5d19642ff1aee4e30898aa1a.jpg>

<http://th05.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2013/344/f/5/jump_out_of_a_cake____by_sashdoesdoodles-d6xhcki.jpg>   
  


[CHAPTER 4](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/149856.html)

 


	4. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 4

A/N Please be patient with the direct quoting and pay close attention, because every lil bit is important at this point. The parts that aren’t direct quotes are intentional, as is some of the rearranging. We’ll get to some new stuff shortly.

They lay side by side, but John couldn’t sleep that night. In his mind he played every possible scenario on that rooftop round and round until he wished he’d just _let_ Sherlock tell him what had really happened. In the morning he snuck back into the bathroom while Mary was still waking up. He was still having trouble meeting her eyes after he’d come in his trousers over his old flame while she watched.

Mary was reading from his blog when John finally summed up enough courage to open the door again. She was sitting on the bed as if with a fantastic novel and speaking with baited breath. For John, whose biggest kink was danger and all things relating to suspense, it was like listening to his future wife read lines from a porno.

_Nearly twenty-four months of impotence and now I’m hard twice in twenty-four hours? I wonder if she’ll even let me near her after last night…_

“Don’t read that,” John pleaded.

“Famous blog, finally,” Mary snickered. She’d read some of it when they’d first met, but not the older posts.

“Come on, that’s…”

“Ancient history, yes, I know.”

“No, it’s a bit…” John was about to confess that it was erotic but she had seen the shaving cream.

“What are you doing?” She asked in delight.

“Having a wash,” John lied pathetically. _Shit. Sherlock’s right. Terrible liar._

“You’re shaving it off.”

“Well, you hate it.”

“Sherlock hates it,” Mary smiled, no trace of jealousy in his voice.

“Apparently, everyone hates it.”

“Oh?” Mary bounced on the bed, “Are you going to see him again?”

“No, I’m going to work.”

“Oh, and after work are you going to see him again?”

John walked away, not sure how to reply, while Mary continued to gush.

“God, I had six months of bristly kisses for me and then His Nibs turns up.”

“I don’t shave for Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh, you should put that on a t-shirt.”

“Shuuut up,” John groused.

“Oooor what?” She replied.

“Or I’ll marry ya,” John replied, stealing himself for her response. _Has a night of sleep made her see sense?_

Mary smiled happily and John took a deep breath before reaching for the razor.

_This is real_. _This is happening. This is going to be my life. I get Mary and Sherlock… how? How is that possible? How could that work? Sherlock and I could barely make it work and we were best friends, lovers, and mad for each other. How can the three of us make this work? Or will it work better for there being three of us? Will one pick up where the other slacks off? Will I be able to bed Mary properly now that Sherlock’s available to fulfill my need for danger? Will I have time for him? For her? Will they have time for me? Will Sherlock…_

John’s brain stalled. The idea of Sherlock fucking Mary had just coalesced into a visual; a stunning visual that had him wiping the last of the shaving cream off of his face and tackling her. She shouted in surprise, thinking he was playing and laughing at him until he jerked her down on the bed by her ankles and started tearing at her clothes.

“You beautiful, wonderful, stunning, gorgeous, brilliant…”

“No mustache!” Mary cheered, and kissed him with fervor.

John had her screaming his name twice and showed up at the clinic late. It was his clinic. He could do that.

XXX

Sherlock had Mycroft over to play with him. John was the only other person who had ever played with him besides Mycroft. He did it for Sherlock of course. He didn’t actually _enjoy_ it. He wasn’t competitive by nature, more a sedentary creature; so it was difficult for him to lower himself to Sherlock’s mental state of _let’s play a game_. He did so because Sherlock had had no childhood- or the one he had had been traumatizing- and Mycroft felt responsible for that unfortunate situation. So he played chess and operation and deductions and all other manner of things with him until Sherlock had made him decidedly disgusted with them both.

“Can’t handle a broken heart, that’s telling,” Sherlock teased when Mycroft bungled the heart in Operation.

“Don’t be smart,” Mycroft scolded.

“Oh, that takes me back. _‘I’m the smart one, Sherlock, don’t be smart’,”_ Sherlock singsonged.

“I _am_ the smart one,” Mycroft growled, his only competitive point showing itself.

“I used to think I was an idiot. Until I met _other_ people.”

“Yes, introducing you to them was a fantastic boost for your ego,” Mycroft chuckled, “The looks on their faces!”

“Looking back they were just trying to make friends. I see that now,” Sherlock muttered.

“Oh, yes. ‘Friends’,” Mycroft grinned, “Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.”

“And you don’t? Ever?”

“If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what _real_ people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish.”

“Yes, but I’ve been away for two years.”

“So?”

“Oh, I don’t know I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a… goldfish. I know of a [silver hatchetfish](http://www.wphillips.com/fish/silver_hatchetfish.jpg) that would _love_ to get his hands on you,” Sherlock smirked.

http://i60.tinypic.com/9jjdog.jpg

“Change the subject. Now,” Mycroft replied in disgust.

“Fine. Let’s play deductions!” Sherlock announced happily, heading for a hat a client had left behind.

He wanted to see if Mycroft would deduce that the fellow had some information on where one of his rats had gone. Apparently not, but it did reveal a bit about Mycroft to him… and himself to Mycroft. Then Mrs. Hudson had to intervene about John but Sherlock was determined to distract himself. So he had Molly over. He was still confused as to his nightmare about her and he hadn’t gotten nearly enough information about her fiancée from her ring. So he dragged her along to a few crime scenes, but John was haunting him. He needed to get the man back, but _how?_ It was actually distracting him from deducing Molly.

Finally he had a breakthrough in Mycroft’s Terrorism Whinging and decided some fish and chips were in order if he was going to keep running Molly. Sadly, Molly called him on it, so he had to pull up some drivel to keep her placated. Of course, that it was honest drivel helped a bit.

“The one person who he thought didn’t matter at all was the one person who mattered the most. You made it all possible. But you can’t do this again, can you?” Sherlock asked, keeping his voice deep and intimate. Molly would answer him if he did that, or at least she’d start babbling and reveal a bit more than she intended.

“I had a lovely day. I’d love to, I just, um…”

“Oh, congratulations, by the way,” Sherlock nodded to her engagement ring (small, sophisticated, non-traditional).

“He’s not from work. We met through friends, the old-fashioned way. He’s nice, we… He’s got a dog, we… we go to the pub on weekends and he hasn’t got family but we have the same friends and… I’ve no idea why I’m telling you any of this.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths.”

“No?” Molly winced.

_Uh oh… Molly? Another?_

“No,” Sherlock replied, pretending he hadn’t noticed. Instead he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek before heading out into the snow.

XXX

John woke up cold and disoriented with a throbbing headache, a viciously dry mouth, and no way to move his arms or legs. He was pinned down by debris. It was dark and he was confused. People were milling about but he couldn’t put two thoughts together let alone shout out to them.

Smoke.

He was trying to get a word out, but there was loud music playing and people were shouting.

“Help! Ahhh! He-he-help!”

The smell of propellants.

“HELP!”

A girl screaming.

“MOVE MOVE MOVE! JOHN!” Sherlock’s voice. Like a

“JOHN!”

Sherlock grabbed him and pulled him from the flames. The smell of melting plastic assaulted his nose.

“John? John!”

Sherlock was leaning over him, burns to the skyn on face and hands. It must have hurt dreadfully. Mary was behind him. She looked terrified. The ambulance. The hospital. Mary stayed nearby, but Sherlock vanished, thinking himself unwelcome.

_I need to speak to him. I’m not ready to, but I have to anyway._

XXX

“Clients?” John asked.

“Just my parents.”

“Your parents?”

“Well, Mycroft’s parents. My parents. They call me their son. Mycroft’s taking them to see _Les Mes_. He tried to get me to do it, but… well…”

“Did they know, too?”

“Hmm…?”

“So that’s why they weren’t at the funeral,” John sighed.

“Sorry!” Sherlock snapped, “Sorry again!”

John sighed and turned away.

They turned to small talk. Safe areas. John’s moustache. John’s attack. The terrorist situation. The train.

John was distracting him. John’s smell. John’s face. John’s eyes. John’s hands. Sherlock wanted him, needed him. Like John needed air while being burnt as Guy Fawkes.

_Guy Fawkes!_ _Fireworks!_

“John? John, what day is today? What’s the date?”

“It’s… oh my gods. Remember, remember.”

“Gunpowder, treason, and plot!”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Skipping a bit. Mostly because I have NO explanation as to how they were using those tracks while a bomb-filled carriage was sitting there for days on end._

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The carriage lit up as the bombs went live and Sherlock looked around himself in horror. The bomb squad should have been there by now. He’d called them _ages_ ago. If John died here because of their ineptitude…

“Go, John. Go now.”

“Well, there’s no time now and if we don’t do this other people will die! Mind Palace!”

“Hmm?”

“Use your Mind Palace!”

“How will that help?”

“You’ve salted away every fact under the sun!”

“Oh, what, and you think I’ve just got ‘how to defuse a bomb’ _tucked_ _away_ in there somewhere?”

“Yes!”

“Maybe,” Sherlock shrugged, bending his head and pretending to focus. The fact was he was trying to find a way to get John to safety before the bomb went off, “I CAN’T!”

They stared at each other in horror.

“Oh my gods,” John groaned, starting to pace.

Sherlock dropped to examine the bomb. _I’m an android, damn it! I have to be able to figure this out! It’s just wires and a clock. How hard is that? I’m far more complex and I practically write my own software and reattach damaged limbs! Of course, I’m not attached to a hundred stone of explosives…_

“Um, uh, uh…” Sherlock muttered frantically before he saw… “Turn that off… Um uhh…”

The muttering was faked now, but John didn’t need to know that. He just had to realize that it was possible for them to die and to never have reconciled properly. Sherlock looked up just as John came to that conclusion and turned to face him with a look of horror and regret on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, putting all of his feelings into it.

“What?”

“I can’t… I can’t do it, John. I don’t know how. Forgive me.”

“What?”

“Please, John, forgive me,” Sherlock replied, folding his hands to beg, “For all the hurt that I caused you. Please forgive me, and before we die tell me you love me one last time.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, this is a trick.”

“No.”

“Another one of your _bloody_ tricks.”

“No.”

“You’re just trying to make me say something nice.”

Sherlock couldn’t suppress the smile, but his voice cracked as he replied, “Not this time.”

“It’s just to make you look good even though you behaved like…”

John turned away, his face strained with emotions, his tears starting to well up. He gripped a pole for support, his body trembling.

“I wanted you to be sentient,” John whispered.

“Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for,” Sherlock replied, his voice still wavering as he focused on how much he _ached_ for this man, “If I hadn’t come back, you wouldn’t be standing there and… you’d still have a future… with Mary.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Sherlock summoned up tears while John turned his back, too distraught to look at Sherlock.

“Look, you were the love of my life, Sherlock,” John replied as he turned back, “The love _of my life_ , but you ended me. I _died_ the day you woke up without a soul inside of you.”

“I know.”

“You were the best and the wisest man that I have ever known. So yes, of _course_ , I forgive you, but Sherlock… Mary is the love of my _death_. The death _you caused_. I don’t trust you. I can’t trust you. Mary wants us to make it work with the three of us but I c… I can’t…”

Sherlock stared up at John with pain lancing through him so severely that he was certain the bomb _had_ gone off, but then he realized there was no explanation for the pain he felt. It wasn’t real. It was _emotional pain_. John could forgive him, but not love him. Mary was willing but John was not. The tears were real now. He knelt on the floor before the man he loved and welcomed death for himself, _but not John_. Never John.

“I… I wanted to watch you grow old,” Sherlock gasped out, “I wanted to raise your children. Your grandchildren. To be left with _some_ part of you after you’re gone. Can you at least let me have that? Can I be a part of their lives? If I can’t have you?”

“Gods, Sherlock,” John gasped out, and dodged around the bomb to drag him to his feet and press him onto one of the padded benches.

John straddled Sherlock’s thighs and pressed their lips together viciously enough to cause pain. Sherlock welcomed it, pressing his tongue into John’s mouth to taste him once more. He was trembling with need so intense it felt like fire in his veins and there was no way to get through John’s clothes without tearing them, so tear them he did. He gripped them at the seems beneath John’s left arm and tore them asunder. The sound brought John out of it and he pulled back to gasp for air.

“Oh, gods, I love you. I do,” John panted, “I can’t stop. I want to, but I _bloody can’t_.”

“Don’t stop,” Sherlock pleaded, arching his hips up for friction as he tossed John’s torn coat, shirt, and vest aside. He ran his hands from stomach to chest, moaning at the trim figure that met his eyes, “You’ve lost weight.”

“ _Mourning_ will do that to a bloke you arse,” John whispered, and then leaned forward to capture his lips again.

And stopped. John stopped and leaned back.

“John,” Sherlock pleaded, “John, please, you’ve no idea what it’s like to be trapped in a body that wants but can’t actually _lust_. I’ve been needing you for two years. _Take me already_!”

“You…. You _cock!_ ” John shouted, and hopped off his lap to stare down at the bomb, “I knew it! I knew!”

“John, I can explain.”

“If I never hear _those words_ again! You know, I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this…”

“Scout’s honor,” Sherlock replied, giggling at the heady sensation of relief, love, lust, and John being pissed off.

“… to _anyone_. You knew! You knew how to turn it off!”

“There’s an off switch,” Sherlock informed him, pretending to have known of it’s presence ahead of time, “There’s always an off switch. Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there’s an off switch.”

_Which is bollocks, but he doesn’t need to know that. All that matters is he’s safe._ _And he still loves me. He doesn’t want to, but he does still love me. I’ll just have to work on the rest._

“So why did you let me go through all of that?”

“I didn’t lie all together,” Sherlock chuckled, “I have absolutely no idea how to turn all of these silly little lights off.”

The flicker of torches caught John’s attention just as the sound of radio chatter reached their ears.

“And you did call the police,” John pointed out.

“Of _course_ I called the police, they’re just late is all. As usual.”

“I’m definitely going to disassemble you.”

“Oh, please. Disassembling me. That’s so two years ago.”

Sherlock laughed and John finally broke and let out a chuckle.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

A celebration. All of Sherlock’s most precious people gathered in one place. John far more relaxed than he’d been and Mary downright friendly. Not quite flirting, but they both knew that was around the corner. They were just dancing around it for now, waiting for John to make the first move.

“Have you set a date?” Mrs. Hudson was asking Mary.

“May.”

“Spring wedding!” Mrs. Hudson cooed.

“Perfect for the three of us,” Mary sighed happily, “Right Sherlock?”

“Weddings… not really my thing,” Sherlock replied.

Mary and John exchanged a glance, but Molly entering with a stranger cut off further conversation.

“Hi everyone,” Molly cooed, “This is Tom.”

Sherlock turned and felt himself stop short. It wasn’t just that the man was dressed like him and had similar facial features. He was also an android. In fact, he was clearly one of Mycroft’s creations.

“Tom… Holmes?” Sherlock asked, putting out a hand.

“Yes, quite,” The bot replied, shaking his hand.

John looked ready to squeal as he waited for Sherlock to dig into him, but Sherlock felt odd when he looked at him. It was as if he were looking at himself. He couldn’t pick up a _thing_ from him other than that he was a Holmes bot level 6. That wasn’t a lot to go on, other than that he was an expensive model. It left an odd taste in his mouth, as the saying went, and not even John’s playful banter could set the mood right. Something was off and Sherlock couldn’t place it.

[CHAPTER 5](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/150849.html)


	5. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 5

_“You see, what John really needs right now is to heal.”_

“You see, what Sherlock really needs right now is to open up.”

“ _So what you should do is give him his space, let him come to you, don’t pressure him for sex or affection.”_

“So what you should do is make him chase you, don’t give in to him by just handing him sex or affection after what he’s done.”

_“Tell him you love him and want to romance him this time around.”_

“Tell him you need some space and you want your relationship to grow into something bigger than it was before.”

_“Don’t you agree?”_

“Don’t you agree?”

_“Yes, Mary.”_

“Yeah, you’re right Mary.”

Sherlock got off the phone with Mary and stared at the nearby clock. While he instinctively knew what time it was due to his mechanical nature there was something to _looking_ at a clock. Just like he could run a search program via the internet inside his body but preferred to use his phone or a laptop. It allowed him to feel more alive, more human, more _outside_ of the massive computer inside of his body.

John and Mary would be there in an hour to discuss a potential polygamous relationship with Sherlock. They had all three of them taken for granted that it was going to happen, but so far they were tiptoeing around each other. Sherlock avoided even casual physical contact with Mary, John avoided romantic physical contact with Mary or Sherlock while the other was around, and neither of them had been intimate with John since Sherlock and John had made up again.

Sherlock realized with a start that fifteen minutes had passed. He was still frozen in the kitchen staring at the clock. He wanted to do something to welcome them, but he couldn’t recall how humans did that sort of thing. He tended to delete things like that. So he headed downstairs and Mrs. Hudson supplied him with a teasing verbal lashing and a tray full of tea things. She also said she wasn’t going to make the tea herself, but ten minutes before they were set to arrive she showed up and started the kettle boiling. Sherlock made himself useful by organizing the biscuits by type on a tray. Mrs. Hudson was less impressed than he felt he deserved.

Finally they showed up and Mrs. Hudson exchanged pleasantries with them before heading back downstairs. Sherlock motioned to the couch but John took his chair. Sherlock took his as well. He expected Mary to take the chair clients took, but she sat down on the arm of John’s chair.

“I suppose the first thing we need to discuss is me,” Mary stated, completely at ease with the situation, “Sherlock, can you be attracted to a woman, and if so, do you want an intimate relationship with me?”

“Yes and no.”

“To each question, or you aren’t sure?”

“Yes, I can be attracted to women. No, I don’t want an intimate relationship with you.”

“Sherlock!” John snapped.

“It’s fine, John,” Mary soothed, “He’s just being honest. Then we’ll make this the sort of relationship where we don’t share all the partners: both of us with John, but not each other. You and I can be friends instead.”

Sherlock nodded, “I’d like that.”

They both stared at him until Sherlock recalled he was supposed to smile and did so. Then John snickered and Mary shook her head in amusement.

“Well, I’m glad about that,” John laughed a bit, “I mean it’s okay to fantasize about but the fact is I can’t measure up to a sex bot in bed. I’d end up being the third wheel while you two…”

John’s dialogue petered out while Mary looked uncomfortable and Sherlock stared at him with narrowed eyes.

“Like I am now?” Sherlock asked.

“I didn’t mean… You’re not a third wheel.”

“Should we get a fourth?” Sherlock asked, “Some polygamists believe an even number is better than an uneven one.”

“Let’s take this one additional partner at a time,” Mary stated with an air of amusement that broke the tension up.

“Okay, so…” John started, clearing his throat awkwardly, “About… other things.”

“Sex,” Sherlock stated plainly.

“Yes, that,” John nodded.

“I think it’s best to wait,” Sherlock decided, “You’ve been badly hurt by me. We need to rebuild our relationship.”

“Yeah. Good. That’s… good,” John agreed. From his side Mary gave Sherlock a wink and he responded with a smile.

“So you two will date, then,” Mary suggested, “Go out and have some time together to grow into a stronger relationship. When you both feel ready, then we’ll start staggering our nights together.”

“Staggering our what now?” Sherlock asked quickly.

“I’ll stay here one night, and at my flat with Mary the next,” John stated, “I’ll go back and forth.”

“That’s not possible,” Sherlock argued, “This is John’s home. This is where he lives.”

“No, Sherlock,” John argued, “This is _your_ home. I live with Mary.”

“You’ll live both places once you’re more secure in your relationship with Sherlock,” Mary interjected.

“Why can’t you both just move here?” Sherlock wanted to know.

“Because it’s disgusting,” John stated.

“You never had a problem before,” Sherlock argued.

“I’d never lived with a woman before,” John replied, “I had no idea what it was like to have that feminine touch going on.”

“Oh shut up, you hate it,” Mary laughed.

“Yeah, I do,” John agreed, smiling up at Mary, “But you wouldn’t be able to stand it here.”

“Meh,” Mary shrugged, “It’s not so bad.”

“He won’t let you clean,” John pointed at Sherlock.

“Sure he will!” Mary laughed, “Sherlock, you’ll let me clean, won’t you?”

“Nope,” Sherlock replied, popping his lips.

Mary smiled and Sherlock imitated it. She laughed and shook her head, “At least let me dust!”

“Are you out of your mind?” John laughed, “Then he wouldn’t be able to tell what was touched last and by whom!”

“Oh, that does sound handy,” Mary acknowledged.

“Leave it to you to understand,” John smiled up at her.

“So, will you two be refraining from sex still?” Sherlock asked.

“We’ve not discussed it,” Mary replied, “Should we, John?”

“Ahhh…” John looked distressed, glancing at Sherlock and Mary and turning to face Mary, “Well… is that what you want to do?”

“I think it would be respectful to Sherlock,” Mary acknowledged, “And you know what else we should do? We should _all_ go out together.”

John and Sherlock were silent.

“Oh, not right away,” Mary replied, “You two need space. I understand that. What about tomorrow?”

“For a date?” John asked.

“Sure,” Mary stated.

“I’m free,” Sherlock replied, using his internal processor to text Lestrade and cancel the appointment he had to meet with NSY about his reinstatement as a consultant.

“Okay,” John nodded, “Sure.”

X

John shifted in his chair, taking another bite of his salad. Sherlock sipped his oil and drummed his fingers on the table. John shifted again and sipped his water. Sherlock put his glass down and nibbled on a breadstick just to have something to do.

“John?”

“Yes,” John asked, clinking his glass hard on the edge of the plate in his eagerness to put it down.

“Is your salad… good?”

“Yeah, it’s… a salad.”

“That’s… good. They’re very healthy.”

“Yeah, and good.”

“Good.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

John drummed his fingers on the table as well, and then looked up with a gleam in his eye, “Do you want to go to the nearest park and see if we can catch a mugger?”

“Oh gods yes.”

They staggered through the door to 221B, snickering like wayward teens, and collapsed onto the couch.

“Did you see his _face_?” John asked.

“Of course I saw it, I see everything,” Sherlock laughed.

“The great Sherlock Holmes is investigating _me?!_ Will I be audited?!” John squealed, imitating the captured mugger.

“He’s good reason to be concerned, he’s got a proper job in finances. He was only doing that for the rush,” Sherlock sniggered.

“Well, he’s in jail now and he can stay there and rot for all I care,” John replied with a sniff, “That poor old woman could have had a heart attack.”

“You were so concerned about her I was getting jealous,” Sherlock replied teasingly.

“Were you?” John asked, turning serious. They both knew he wasn’t talking about the old woman.

“Sometimes. When I’m alone. Then I see you with Mary and she’s so right for you. When you’re with me you’re tense, taught, like a bowstring. When you’re with her it’s different. I see the way you relax. I’m bad for you, John.”

“No you’re not. You’re no good for yourself, but you aren’t necessarily bad for me.”

Then he kissed him. Just leaned in and pressed a gentle peck to his lips that shouldn’t have meant as much as it did to both of them. It wasn’t enough, and they were soon stretched out on the couch with Sherlock draped over John as he kissed him hungrily. He could have had him right then and there, but John pushed him away, looking away from him as if he were anxious. Sherlock scooted down and laid his head over John’s chest to listen to his heartbeat and John ran his fingers through his hair. Both their erections eventually diminished as they relaxed into a calm cuddle.

“Your erectile dysfunction is psychosomatic,” Sherlock stated out of the blue, “It’s my fault.”

“I know,” John sighed, “Mary and I discussed it long before you came back.”

“It’s from me torturing you.”

“It’s from you withholding my orgasms, yes.”

“You can’t get an erection without me around. I don’t necessarily have to be sexually active with you. Just me being back in your life has allowed you to return to normal.”

“I know.”

“You don’t need me. Not for that. Just for your danger fix.”

“Yeah.”

“Why is Mary allowing this? I can’t figure her out,” Sherlock complained.

“The great Sherlock Holmes baffled by a woman.”

Sherlock smiled against John’s chest, “It wouldn’t be the first time. “

“Sherlock…” John struggled a bit, “I do need you. I just… not for sex, no. I mean, I’d _like_ that, obviously, but I do… need you… I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

“You need the rush.”

“I need more than the rush. I guess I’m just selfish.”

“You’re referring to your interest in a poly relationship with Mary and I.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if it’s selfish. It didn’t work with Marie and Sebastian, but… you and Mary aren’t like them. You would never hurt me. Would you be jealous if Mary and I _were_ intimate?”

“Yeah. No. Maybe. I’m not sure. She’s so willing to share me and I’ve no problem with you two together, but my self respect is _shot_. How do I compete with you? Do you want that with her?”

“You don’t compete with me, and I don’t know if I want that with her. Right now she treats me like her gay friend. I like it, actually,” Sherlock laughed, “We’ve had all sorts of conversations about you.”

“Oh gods,” John groaned, “Now I’m terrified. What has she told you?”

Sherlock chuckled for a moment, trying not to dissolve into a fit of outright laughter.

“Oh no, is it that bad?” John asked in horror.

“Pegging,” Sherlock snickered.

“Oh bloody hell,” John groaned, “We only tried it the once. She thought anal stimulation would help.”

“Clearly she thought wrong!” Sherlock laughed, losing his composure despite John pinching and lightly punching at him in outrage.

“Shut it! It was humiliating! Quit laughing at my pain.”

“I can’t believe she wasn’t expecting a bit of flatulence. I mean, come on. It’s a bum for pity’s sake. She’s smarter than that.”

“I think she was just being naive,” John chuckled.

“Well, I think your well-fucked-ass-farts are adorable,” Sherlock snickered.

“That’s a sentence I _never_ needed to hear,” John laughed.

X

_Sherlock was in Moriarty’s body again. He was much calmer this time. Molly was sitting on a frilly pink stool brushing her hair and chattering about work._

_“Molly,” Sherlock stated, putting all the command into his voice he could, “What is going on?”_

_“We’ve got a date tonight, remember? You promised!” Molly pouted._

_“You’re dating Tom Holmes. You’re engaged to him. I repeat: what the hell is going on?!”_

_Molly turned around, an alarmed look on her face, “It’s happened again, hasn’t it? You’ve gone all confused on me. Are you still seeing John in your dreams? And Mary?”_

_“I’m seeing them in real life! This is a dream!” _

_“No, darling, it isn’t,” Molly sighed, but her voice was deep and terrifying. As she stood up and moved towards him her body swelled and distorted into a new shape. The android screamed in terror._

Sherlock woke up, his artificial lungs working in overdrive as he floundered in the midst of a panic attack. He had to quickly flip the program on that would initiate regulation once again before his tubes burst and his body got flooded with various fluids again. Once his breathing slowed down he worked on calming his mind. His dream terrified him. It wasn’t just the helplessness or the fact he was a prisoner, it was the fact if felt so _real_. He no longer had the terror of women he once had, not after Molly had helped him heal by giving him a reason to trust her, but that didn’t mean he was okay with his dreams being so far out of his control.

Sherlock stood up to start his day and then noticed it was still dark outside. Alarmed, he snatched up the clock on the table beside John’s old bed that he’d been curled up in for his ‘sleep’ function. It concurred with his internal clock. He had been asleep for an hour, but he was supposed to have been asleep for _five_ hours while his systems updated. He shouldn’t have even been _able_ to wake up!

Terrified, Sherlock scrambled for his phone and called the only person he knew he could trust with this sort of horror.

“John? I’ve had a nightmare. Come home.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed, “It’s three AM. I have work tomorrow.”

“You said you still loved me!” Sherlock shouted in accusation.

“Don’t pull that shit. You know I do, Sherlock, but we talked this through, remember? I’m not ready to spend the night. You need to earn back my trust,” John replied, his tone one of exhausted patience.

“What about _my_ trust of _you_? You’re supposed to be here for me! I need you!”

“Sherlock, it was just a dream. You have them all the time. You had them _all_ on your own for two years. There’s nothing I can do about them. _You’re_ the one who told me that.”

“This one woke me up.”

“I’m sorry. Have some tea or warm milk or something,” John replied with a yawn.

“You aren’t _listening_. This one woke me up _during a sleep cycle_.”

There was a moment of silence and then John swore, “I’ll be there. I’ll be right there. Do you need Mycroft?”

“No, just you. Hurry.”

John showed up in short order, his jacket thrown on over his nightclothes. Mary was hovering downstairs but Sherlock wasn’t about to tell him to bring her up.

“What happened?” John demanded, kneeling in front of the chair and staring into his face. He was instinctively checking Sherlock’s pupil dilation, never mind that it had nothing to do with an android’s reactions. It comforted John so Sherlock let it go.

“I’ve no idea. All my updates were stopped mid-download. I need to go back to sleep so they can finish or I’ll be vulnerable to viruses and glitches. I’ve never woken up before my programmed time before. I didn’t want to try this again without someone here.”

“What can I do?” John asked.

“Will Mary let you stay?” Sherlock asked reaching out to touch his face gently, “Perhaps if you’re near…”

Sherlock let the sentence hang. He was embarrassed that he was asking to be held through his nightmares, but he needed John desperately.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to her. Just wait here, okay?” John replied, giving him a quick peck on the lips before heading downstairs.

Mary came back up with him, smiling when he rolled his eyes at her presence, “Relax, Sherlock, I’m not staying. I just wanted to see for myself that you’re okay.”

“I’m not, but thank you for your concern,” Sherlock stated.

Mary leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Call me if you need anything, dear.”

“Thanks Mary,” Sherlock smiled, and then thought better of it as she headed for the door, “You stay, too.”

“Are you sure?” Mary asked, “I don’t want to come between you two.”

“I’m sure,” Sherlock nodded, “John’s bed is upstairs. We can all fit if we’re snugged in tight.”

“That should be cozy,” John snorted, “You’re okay with this too?”

Mary nodded, and then paused on her way up the stairs with a smirk, “Pity. It really is.”

“What is?” Sherlock asked as she led them upstairs.

“That you aren’t into me, silly!” Mary laughed, but the laugh turned into a yawn.

Sherlock flushed and glanced back at John who grinned up at him, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see that.”

“Oh?” Mary wondered, “Well maybe once we know each other better Sherlock will give it a try.”

Sherlock snorted, “Doubtful. I detest the very idea of threesomes. Too many elbows.”

“Well just the two of us, then. John can watch.”

“Not interested,” Sherlock scoffed.

Mary stared at him considering, “What about something John won’t do with you? There has to be something. A position, a technique… a fetish?”

Sherlock’s eyes flew to John as he looked up from making the bed and Sherlock felt his face heat up. You didn’t have to be a consulting detective to know what that meant.

“What fetish?!” John asked, a grin spreading from ear to ear.

“I’ll leave you to your deductions,” Sherlock looked away, stubbornly refusing to engage.

“Oh, no you don’t,” John argued.

“Oh, let him!” Mary laughed, “We’ll make a game of it. Let’s see… it isn’t something like poop is it?”

“Don’t be disgusting!” Sherlock snapped at her.

“To each their own, I always say,” Mary laughed, “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. Hmmm, what about puppies.”

“Puppies?” Sherlock asked.

“Puppy play,” Mary elaborated, “Where people dress up as dogs and…”

“No.”

“As informative… and odd… as this is,” John interrupted, “It’s not going to help any of us sleep. How should we arrange this? Should Mary lay in between us?”

“That’s ridiculous!” Sherlock shouted angrily.

“Yes, it is,” Mary replied, “John in the middle. I’ll take the inside if you don’t mind. I’m afraid I’ll fall off otherwise.”

“Fine,” Sherlock agreed.

John gestured for her to climb in and then followed suit with his back against her chest. She wrapped an arm around his waist and smiled up at Sherlock who crawled in and pressed his face into John’s chest. He slipped an arm around John’s waist, his knuckles grazing Mary’s abdomen and raising a giggle from her. He smiled against John’s warm chest, breathing in his scent. He could smell Mary’s perfume and John’s deodorant. It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. When his hand intentionally prodded at Mary and she broke out in giggles again John joined in. His humour was a pleasant rumble against Sherlock’s cheek. Mary’s hand slid up John’s body and tangled in Sherlock’s hair, scratching at his scalp in a pleasant way with her long nails. Sherlock purred and nuzzled tighter against John’s body.

“Scratching?” Mary tried.

“Hmm, no,” Sherlock chuckled, “Though that does feel nice.”

“He loves being rubbed and massaged,” John said softly, starting to stroke and rub Sherlock’s back

Sherlock let out a pleased hum and the two started to stroke him all over, Mary moving to sit up and hook a leg over John so she could reach Sherlock’s legs.

“Is this okay, Sherlock?” Mary asked softly.

It was. It was actually okay. More than okay. He sighed in contentment and buried his face in between John’s pectorals and absorbed in his scent while Mary’s hands worked magic on the sensors across his legs and John dug fingers into the ones at his back. John knew the limit of where Sherlock’s sensors registered pleasure and where they registered pain so Sherlock trusted him, but he was a bit cautious about Mary’s touch. She did not betray his careful expectation. Her hands gave him only soothing sensations and even a tingle of arousal near his thighs when she approached his arse. Sherlock tensed, his body responding eagerly even as part of him shivered in fear. Yet she retreated without him saying a word, not even a silent warning from John. She didn’t take it to the next level that Sherlock both wanted and dreaded.

_If she’s perfect for John, and John is perfect for me, is she perfect for me?_

“Ready?” John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock decided.

Mary lay back down and Sherlock initiated the sleep program. He plunged into Moriarty’s body immediately.

_“Damn it!” Sherlock raged with Moriarty’s voice, “Why can’t I just sleep?!”_

_“Sleep?” Mycroft’s voice asked, “Is that what you’re doing now?”_

_Sherlock sat up and looked around to find himself in a strange place, though the decorations were similar to Mycroft’s style._

_“Mycroft?” Sherlock asked, “Well, at least_ you’re _a normal fixture in my dreams.”_

_“Am I? How sweet,” Mycroft taunted lovingly, rising from a wingback chair and heading for Sherlock, “Just relax little brother. All will be fine.”_

_“You know me, then? You know I’m not Moriarty?”_

_“I know you. I would know you no matter what face you wore. Relax, Sherlock. Lay back and let me help you. Bluebeard is not your fate*.”_

_Sherlock’s systems had a second to respond, a moment of shock and alarm as he registered his emergency shutdown command, and then there was nothing._

“I don’t understand,” Mycroft’s voice reached Sherlock’s sensors, “It’s as if someone shut him down.”

“Shut him down?” John’s precious voice replied.

“With the code,” Mycroft replied.

“The one you _still_ won’t tell me,” John replied angrily.

Sherlock opened his eyes, “You don’t need to know.”

“Yes, I do,” John argued as Sherlock sat up on the worktable at Mycroft’s home, “I need to be able to put a bullet through anyone who even begins to utter it. How can I protect you if you don’t tell me?”

“The less who know the better,” Mycroft replied, “Imagine being tortured for it? Sherlock has many enemies. Especially now.”

Mycroft extended a hand and Sherlock accepted it to hop down, “A sentience test?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Mycroft replied, “Though I did run a few programs while you were down there was no sign of any kind of damage, and you’re clearly responding normally.”

“Right then, I’m all updated so let’s just go home.”

There was a moment of hesitation as Sherlock realized that they weren’t all in the same home, and then Mary smiled and hopped down from the second worktable and hooked her arm through his. John paused to smile at them both and then slid his arm through Sherlock’s other arm.

“Ta Mycroft!” Mary chirped, and they slid sideways out the door with unexpected gracefulness and cheery laughter.

*I know it’s Redbeard. Sorry, but the pooch is Bluebeard in this one, and he’s part of the shutdown code. You’ll find out why later.

[CHAPTER 6](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/151286.html)


	6. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 6

CHAPTER 6  
  
A/N: Some relationship building. Next chapter will have a case. ;)  
 

Sherlock liked soup. It went down smooth and had a nice texture to it. The heat was oddly soothing for him as well. After all, he couldn’t keep adding more and more oil for each of these ‘dates’ just to maintain social eating. He was full up. Across from him, Mary was eating a cordon bleu and chatting about their wedding plans. They had no date set since things were up in the air with Sherlock, but Mary was still planning things out.

“So what sort of traditions do androids had since they aren’t allowed marriage?” Mary wondered.

“None that I’m aware of, but then I’m not the most social person,” Sherlock replied, “Why are you allowing this situation with John? I think we both know you could force him into leaving me… at least for the short term.”

“You just answered your own question. I want John to be happy,” Mary replied with a smile, “I’ve never been as close to someone as I am to him. He’s wonderful.”

Sherlock nodded considering, “He is that.”

“Well, since this is our first date,” Mary smiled cheerily, “What should we do? Dinner seems fun, but I’m sure we can’t afford to have dinner out _every_ night.”

“Certainly not,” Sherlock agreed.

They were staggering date nights now. At first it had been John going back and forth to Mary and Sherlock, but after a month they’d added two new dynamics. On the third night Sherlock and Mary went out and on the fourth the three of them went out together. It wasn’t practical to eat out each time, and John and Sherlock certainly hadn’t been doing that any more than John and Mary had. Dinner at ‘home’ was preferable. There he could run his hands over John’s body when allowed and kiss him into a panting mess. Needless to say, he wouldn’t be doing that with Mary. The best he could hope for was an expansion on the casual friendship they already had going. Mary seemed comfortable with him, a bit flirtatious even. Sherlock found he liked it. She was adorable and fun, someone he could see himself enjoying the company of. It wasn’t like when The Woman was around and he’d been a confusing cross of aroused and terrified. Mary didn’t intimidate him.

“We could eat at your place,” Mary suggested.

“You should consider it yours as well,” Sherlock tossed back on a whim, “After all, it’s John’s home and you’ll be marrying him.”

Mary winked at him, “You’re so sweet. I can certainly see what John sees in you… aside from that gorgeous body and all those wild adventures.”

Sherlock blushed. He _hated_ that he couldn’t always shut off his blush function, but sometimes it just crept up on him without his processors alerting him in time.

“Let’s go out and have a bit of fun!” Mary decided.

“Doing what, exactly?” Sherlock scoffed, “I’m sure your idea of fun and mine are quite different.”

“I’ve always wanted to go bungee jumping.”

“Dull.”

“Sky diving?”

“Takes too long, and they won’t do it at night around here.”

“Assassinate an evil dignitary while playing the James Bond theme on ear buds?”

“ _Now_ you’re talking,” Sherlock smiled.

They ended up walking through the park and chatting. Sherlock was keeping an eye out for muggers, but Mary didn’t seem to notice and they didn’t run across any. She was still trying to guess his fetish.

“Give us a clue, then!”

“No.”

“Come on!”

“No.”

“Is it murder?”

“Mmmm, yes, but no.”

“Necrophilia?”

“ _Gods_ no.”

“Just one clue!”

“No.”

“Feet?” She tried.

“Nope.”

They walked in silence for a bit and then Mary stopped and turned to him, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“What?” He asked.

“You’re not going to tell John, are you? That’s what this is. You’re embarrassed about it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He wouldn’t judge you.”

“He’d still tease me.”

“He’d love you anyway.”

“He’d still laugh.”

“Fetishes are _always_ a bit silly.”

“This one is _very_ silly.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know what it is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mary stated, her tone of voice final.

They had made their way back to Mary’s car and she leaned in to kiss his cheek, “I had a lovely time tonight, Sherlock. See you tomorrow?”

Sherlock nodded sharply and they parted ways as he opened her car door for her.

X

The date with John and Mary at their flat was less awkward than he’d thought it would be, but then turned sour after dinner. Sherlock was annoyed at first, but he headed straight into outrage the second John drew away when Sherlock tried to rest his hand on his leg during their TV time. They were watching a documentary on cuttlefish and it was discussing how they would fight for a mate. It was likely what triggered John’s sudden discomfort, but for Sherlock it was just fascinating since he’d never read up on them before. Instead of being able to lean over and enjoy the moment with John he found himself rejected. Sherlock sat back, turned in his seat, took in a ‘breath’ to tell John off, but stopped when Mary caught his eye with a smirk and a subtle movement.

“Sherlock?” John asked, puzzled by his frozen expression.

Having caught his attention Mary winked and ran a finger down John’s neck, causing him to shiver and jump a bit.

“Oh, ahh,” John turned around quickly, “Something… something on my neck?”

“Yeah, got it!” Mary declared, and then turned back to the telly.

John sat back and Sherlock did as well, confused and a bit intrigued. He glanced over at Mary to find her smirking and glancing repeatedly at John while waggling her eyebrows. Sherlock smiled and then yawned, stretched, and dropped an arm around John’s shoulders. John jumped off the sofa as if burned and fled for the kitchen with a scattered explanation about getting crisps. They hid their smirks until his back was turned and then glanced at each other and risked a giggle. He returned to sit between them, and Mary gave Sherlock a cheeky grin behind his back before giving her hair a few flicks and shifting about until John’s attention was drawn to her.

“Something wrong?”

“I’ve just got the _creeps_ , could you check my hair? Just make sure nothing’s there?”

“Sure, let me see,” John turned towards her and ran his fingers through her hair. As it often had with Sherlock, it became a petting motion until Sherlock reached out and slid a finger into his trousers where they pulled away from his back. He found the crack of his ass and stroked up and down it while John froze with his fingers in Mary’s hair.

“Something wrong?” Mary asked innocently.

“No. Nope. Nothing wrong. Nothing at all,” John replied, flexing his hips back until Sherlock’s finger was fully pressed between his cheeks. Sherlock found himself far more resentful of the fabric of his pants keeping him away from all that flesh than he was of the woman who John was staring at while aroused by both their actions.

“You lot are toying with me,” John’s voice was deep with lust.

“Well someone has to get you to be sensible,” Mary smiled, “You think I don’t know you snog Sherlock when I’m not around? You need to be okay with us seeing it.”

“Mary’s right,” Sherlock replied, nuzzling the back of his neck, “It isn’t PDA, John. You needn’t get stiff upper lip over a stiffy. We’re in a plural relationship, and it doesn’t help Mary and I adjust if you can’t be open with us both while we’re in the same room.”

“I thought you didn’t want a threesome?”

“It’s not a threesome, love,” Mary corrected gently, “Though I might point out that I’m _not_ against that.”

“Down girl,” Sherlock chuckled, sliding his arms around John’s waist while John’s hand wandered down to cup Mary’s breast.

“What’s happening here?” John asked, his voice breathless.

“Just a cuddle,” Mary replied gently, and tugged John’s hand away before pulling him down so that he lay with his head on her breasts.

Sherlock analyzed the situation and then decided laying down on the both wouldn’t work. Instead he began to rub John’s shoulders as he knelt between his spread legs. Mary’s legs were crooked, her knee between John’s side and the couch and the other foot on the floor. John moaned and shifted a bit as arousal began to pound through him, but they all knew it wasn’t going anywhere. It was Mary who transitioned them by drawing their attention back to the show they’d been watching.

“Hear that?” Mary flirted, “They prefer the ones who disguise themselves as females. Sherlock, I think I have some clothes that might fit you.”

“Not necessary,” Sherlock replied, “I have a number of disguises available including one that allows me to ‘pass’ as female quite easily.”

“Oh, I’d like to see that!” Mary laughed.

“Not going to lie,” John added, “It’s pretty damn hot.”

He sat up and they laughed nervously together, shifting into a casual group together with Sherlock and Mary far closer to John than they had been.

“Oh, does Sherlock make a pretty gurl?” Mary asked.

“Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models,” Sherlock announced.

“Yeah, but are you a pretty gurl?” Mary asked.

“He’s smoking hot,” John replied, clearing his throat as he tried to smother his grin.

“That’s it. We’re playing dress up,” Mary decided, then grabbed Sherlock’s arm and dragged him into their bedroom.

“Ummm,” John muttered after them, but decided to stay put and turn on an action flick.

An hour later he finally braved the bedroom to find Mary and Sherlock laughing over make-up with Sherlock wearing one of Mary’s less feminine shirts and looking as if it belonged on him.

“Look!” Mary crowed, “You can’t even tell I’m wearing any!”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?” John asked.

Mary and Sherlock both started laughing, shaking their heads as though John had said something incredibly simple. John sighed and headed back to the kitchen for a beer. When he looked up next Mary and Sherlock were saying goodbye with a warm hug. He stood up to do the same and pressed a kiss to his lips that Sherlock tried to prolong.

“Come home,” Sherlock said softly.

John shook his head and gave him a second tender peck before stepping back and taking Mary’s hand, “Tomorrow I’ll stay the night. _Platonically._ ”

Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes, and headed out the door with a quick step.

“Sherlock’s going to help me plan the wedding, John. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Better than me doing it,” John agreed.

“You’re not off the hook,” Mary scolded lightly.

X

“I realize it’s not going to be perfect,” John babbled while looking through the papers for a case, “That you and Mary won’t always be able to alternate, but for now we need to measure out our time. When I’ve got a better grasp on these two relationships we can start running off into the night again, you and I.”

“So I’ll be your nights and she your days?” Sherlock asked.

“A bit, yeah, and sometimes you’ll have me by day and she by night. Look, it won’t be perfect Sherlock, but we can make this work. You just have to ease up on me a bit. I can’t pop by to hand you a pen, but I’ll be there when you _do_ need me. Anymore nightmares lately?”

“No, none. My dreams have been… nonexistent,” Sherlock lied.

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Good. What about these e-mails you’ve been getting?”

John paused, narrowing his eyes, “Been hacking my e-mail again, have you?”

“Your password is my penis size while erect, it hardly required _hacking_. Well. I did have to actually measure it. I never had before, though apparently _you_ have. By the way, that reminds me, I still have photos of you.”

“You have… you have _photos_ of me? What sort of photos?!”

“Judging by your tone you already know,” Sherlock smirked.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Mmm, no. I sent them to Mary, by the way. A sort of peace offering for being stroppy on the phone yesterday.”

“You sent… what was in them exactly?” John asked, looking flustered.

Sherlock smiled and synced the photos from his Mind Palace to his phone. He held it up and John thumbed through them for a moment, his face turning a delightful shade of red with his mouth open and his eyebrows up. Then he turned purple and he held out a picture of John and Mary spooning.

“Did she send that back?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock snorted, “I must have sent it to the phone by accident. That belongs in my head still.”

“When did you take that?”

“The night you two stayed over after my nightmare, of course. You were adorable being the little spoon. How could I resist?”

“I’m always the little spoon,” John sighed.

“I know.”

“I know you know, but you didn’t have to _take a picture_.”

“I don’t actively take pictures, they just exist,” Sherlock replied, “Everything I experience is saved unless I specifically delete it, in video, picture, and audio form.”

“Everything?”

“Tactile sensations as well. For instance, should I wish to masturbate I can relive in its entirety any of our previous sexual encounters.”

“That’s… not fair.”

“Sorry?”

“That’s not fair. I spent two damn years wanking to my blog, and you can relive any sexual encounter we’ve ever had… that’s just not bloody _fair_.”

“Your _blog_? That piece of drivel? No wonder you were limp.”

John laughed and sat back in his chair to sip his whiskey again, “Okay, hang on then. So… I’ve got a room in your Mind Palace? Or at least _we_ have?”

“ _We_ have a room. You, my dear blogger, have an entire wing.”

John smiled softly and leaned forward to peck him on the lips, “Case today?”

“Nothing interesting. Games?”

“Anything but Cluedo.”

X

A month later John got a call from Sherlock, who apparently _still_ did not have the whole ‘leave me alone when I’m with Mary’ situation in hand. He was screaming mad because someone had e-mailed John again.

“I haven’t even checked my e-mail in days, you’ve been avoiding cases in order to date me.”

“It’s a picture, John,” Sherlock snapped.

“Mmm, what sort of picture?” John asked, keying up his laptop and grinning eagerly.

“A pearl. You’re getting one a day, this is the third.”

“Sorry, no idea.”

“John, it’s been months since I returned. I need you to move back here. This is completely inconvenient.”

“Mary!” John called, “Sherlock wants us to move in with him!”

“My Little Ponies?” Mary asked.

“She wants to know if your fetish is My Little Ponies.”

“No.”

“No!” John called back.

“Same answer, then!”

“She says no.”

“This is ridiculous! I’m not going to tell her my fetish!”

“Then tell me,” John whispered, “Come on, what is it?”

“No. You’ll laugh,” Sherlock argued.

“No I won’t.”

“Yeah, you will.”

“He says it’s embarrassing!” John shouted to Mary.

“Ask him for a clue!” Mary called back.

“She wants a clue.”

Sherlock sighed, “If I give you a clue will she let you come over?”

“Doubt it.”

“Then no clue.”

“Mary, he wants more time with me in exchange for a clue!” John tried.

“Only if it’s a case!”

“She says…”

“I _heard_ her,” Sherlock snapped, “I want to investigate these pearls.”

“Okay. So. How?”

“Where are the e-mails coming from?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Sherlock hung up in a tiff and started looking around on the internet to see if he could figure out where the pearl e-mails were coming from. He found a person on John’s blog whose typing pattern showed they were an amateur hacker and got in contact with him.

X

The three of them went out to dinner together but got thrown out of the restaurant when Sherlock took off his shoes to play with John’s crotch and someone saw.

“Foot fetish?” Mary asked.

“Nope,” Sherlock insisted, opening the door to 221B for her.

“Size Queen?”

“With John? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m a perfectly respectable size!” John snapped.

“Of course you are,” Sherlock replied, “For someone who _isn’t_ a size queen.”

“Come on, Sherlock,” Mary pleaded.

“Nope.”

“You promised me a clue!” Mary and John sat down on the couch and Sherlock took his chair out of irritation.

“Fine,” Sherlock sighed, “Pop.”

“Sorry?” Mary asked.

“Pop. That’s your clue.”

“The drink?” Mary asked.

“Maybe,” Sherlock replied, “Deduce it.”

“Pop… hmmm… pop…” Mary sank into thought while Sherlock and John chatted about past cases and the mystery of the pearl e-mails. They had stopped after six pearl pictures had been e-mailed to John with no explanation at all. Sherlock was just waiting to hear back from The Improbable One.

Then Mary jumped out of her chair and bolted for the door, purse in hand.

“Mary?” John called.

“Spend the night!” Mary shouted.

“Sexually?” Sherlock shouted back.

“Not unless he’s ready!” Mary shouted back, slamming the downstairs door behind her.

“Are you ready?” Sherlock asked.

“Mmm,” John hummed, and slid down to his knees to crawl towards Sherlock with a smile on his face, “We’ve been dating without fighting for a bit now. Maybe… for one or two things.”

“Oh,” Sherlock smiled, “That!”

It was so strange starting over with John sexually. He was just as frisky and just as attracted to Sherlock, but determined to take it slow so they could have a _proper_ relationship. After four months he thought it was well time they were past not having removed each other’s pants- frotting through clothes was only so satisfying. It didn’t help that he knew the second John took things all the way with him he’d also take them all the way with Mary again, and this time without his erectile issues since they were _very_ resolved. That being said, the second John took down his trousers and swallowed him down Sherlock was well and truly overwhelmed. He knew he wouldn’t last long especially not with the way John sucked on him as if he needed him to live. He came after only a few seconds and John chuckled and glanced up to give him a lewd wink before continuing to drive him wild.

“I need you,” Sherlock gasped.

John moaned and undid his own trousers, shoving them down to fist his cock while he bobbed enthusiastically on Sherlock’s throbbing member. Sherlock watched with a jolt of excitement as he slid a finger in beside Sherlock’s cock, got it good and wet, and then reached back to stroke his entrance.

“Yes,” Sherlock purred, “Touch yourself. Do you do that often? Finger yourself and think of me?”

“Mmmmm-hmmmmm,” John agreed, his voice a deep and sultry hum around Sherlock’s cock.

“Oh, that’s nice. Let’s see how you like this,” Sherlock smirked, and turned on the vibration for his penis on the lowest setting.

John felt a gentle hum across his tongue, igniting his senses and sending his cock and arse to missing Sherlock’s body. He wanted inside of him. He wanted to be taken by him. He’d missed this man in so many ways, but his nightmares still included watching him fall from a roof, watching this same body without a soul pace after him for months on end… Not yet. Not until the dreams were less real than the feel of the cock throbbing on his tongue.

“I want to taste you,” Sherlock whispered, “Hold off. Just a bit… oh _yes!_ ”

Sherlock filled John’s mouth a second time and he tasted more of the sweet nectar that Sherlock had topped off his reservoirs with. Pina Colada. Sherlock _had_ warned him that Molly had bought his last batch of semen. He’d have to thank her once he got the [damn song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsJgMvMLpz0) out of his head, as the taste was rather appealing compared to the ‘real’ tasting stuff he’d been buying for Sherlock.

“That’s enough,” Sherlock gasped, “I need to make you scream now.”

“So modest,” John smiled, popping off his cock and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Shut up and come for me,” Sherlock growled.

Sherlock pounced and John ended up sitting on the floor in front of his chair with his trousers and pants around his ankles while Sherlock sucked his cock enthusiastically. He had John’s legs spread and was running a lubricated digit between his arse cheeks and along his taint while his thumb stroked John’s bollocks.

John moaned and panted, his hands tangled in Sherlock’s hair as he controlled the pace with that bit of bottom-topping that he sometimes did. Sherlock loved it. Loved it when John took control of their sexual encounters. Loved it when he laid back and let Sherlock have his way with him. Loved it when John did anything including smile innocently in his sleep. Sherlock was showing off for him now, doing everything he could to drive John crazy. He turned on the vibration on his finger and John threw his head back to shout in bliss, swearing like a sailor while jerking his hips wildly. He’d have a very rug burned arse when this was done, and Sherlock couldn’t help but imagine Mary squeezing it for days to come and getting a little gasp out of him. It made Sherlock smile around his cock and then turn his head a bit to lath along the bottom with his tongue. Sherlock gave another loud slurp and John came with a long moan of relief. He went limp, his head thrown back and hanging a few inches from the chair cushion. Sherlock gave his cock another few bobs before it got too sensitive and then moved away and winked at him as he lifted his wobbly head up.

“Bloody brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock smirked.

“Love you, you mad thing.”

Sherlock rested his head on John’s forehead and smiled softly, “Likewise, I’m sure.”

John laughed a bit, “Let’s go to bed, yeah? I’m beat.”

“No, you’re sucked, though I’d rather you were _fucked_.”

“I’d rather be fucked, too,” John said soberly, “But I mean it this time. The right way.”

“How does the right way translate to abstaining from sodomy?” Sherlock whined.

“I need to trust you again, Sherlock. There’s a lot of lost trust between us. Come on. Let’s not ruin this by fighting. Come to bed and hold me while you fiddle around on the internet or whatever. I brought my laptop so you can go through my files and spy on me like you love to do.”

“It isn’t fun if you _let me_ ,” Sherlock whinged as they stomped upstairs with satisfaction-heavy legs.

John’s laughter made him smile. It was good to hear John laughing easily again.

[CHAPTER 7](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/152980.html)

 

 

CHAPTER OUTTAKES(These have exactly 0% effect on the story, but they’re fun so I couldn’t let them go even though they didn’t fit.)

1)

“She’s coming between us!” Sherlock ranted, “She’s ruining everything!”

“I know this is difficult Sherlock, but…”

“CAN’T YOU SEE IT’S HER PLAN?!” Sherlock shouted in outrage.

John paled, “Is it? Is she really trying to split us up while acting like she’s not? If she is, and you say she is, I’ll believe you, but you’d better be absolutely sure that…”

Sherlock saw Mary’s devastated look from behind John’s shoulder and waved his arms in the air angrily, “OF COURSE SHE ISN’T! JUST LOOK AT HER! SHE’S ABSOLUTELY LOVELY!”

“Are you… are you okay?” John asked, looking confused and alarmed.

“NO I’M NOT! I CAN’T SEEM TO STOP SHOUTING!”

“Should I call Mycroft?”

“NO!”

“John?” Mary tried, “Can I?”

“Be my guest,” John replied, “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“Sherlock, would you like to have a few days alone with John? Maybe take a trip to the country?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, his voice back to normal levels.

“Okay. We’ll work it this way. When you need time alone with him, you just call me and tell me. You and I will work it out. Sometimes I might need time alone with him, though. Can you manage that?”

Sherlock waffled back and forth for a moment, then huffed out a breath and sat down in his chair, “Yes, fine. That’s… reasonable, I suppose.”

“Good. Okay then,” Mary sighed, “John, I’ll pack you a bag and drop it off while you two make plans. I’ll let the other doctors at the practice know to cover your shift.”

“You’re okay with this?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mary smiled, and pecked a kiss to his cheek, “You just take care of your boyfriend for a bit. He needs you right now. Just remember I’ll need you later.”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you. Really, I mean that.”

They hugged and Mary headed out the door with a purposeful stride.

“Well, where shall we go?” John asked, “I thought you hated the country?”

“I do, but I did see a theft ring mentioned in the papers…”

2) (spoilers below)

John had his head in Sherlock’s lap, bobbing up and down on his cock while Sherlock moaned in bliss, when the door silently swung open again. Mary was standing there with a red balloon in her hand. She slowly began to blow it up while Sherlock watched her with pupils blown. Her lips were wrapped around the mouth of the balloon as if it were the tastiest breast she’d ever had in her mouth. She was stroking one finger back and forth across the slowly swelling flesh. Sherlock wanted to smell it. That rubber scent, so much like a lower model android… the filth of it! As if he’d do something so base as to touch an android that _didn’t_ have a sentient thought in its mind… to rub against it and…

Sherlock gasped and John moaned around his cock, completely unaware of their voyeur. He was undoing his trousers and stroking his cock a bit. Sherlock tried to keep his eyes on John, to make sure he didn’t come before he’d had a chance to return the favour, but he was too busy staring at Mary as she gave the balloon another puff and then tugged on it gently to extend it’s neck and make it more phallic. Now it resembled a cock in her mouth and Sherlock was completely undone. _How_ was she doing this so silently?!

“Oh gods,” Sherlock moaned.

Mary gave it another puff and it was close to bursting. He could see through it, could see her hand stroking the farther side. She rubbed it so that it squeaked and Sherlock let out his own squeak just as John’s head flew up and he stared at Mary in alarm.

“Don’t mind me,” Mary smiled, “Just thinking about decorations for the wedding.”

“Balloons?” John asked, his face still riddled with guilt.

“Shut up, John,” Sherlock snapped, pushing his head back into his lap.

“I thought you didn’t want Mary to wa…”

“Shut _up_ ,” Sherlock snapped, and John laughed a bit at the kinkiness and swallowed him back down.

He was being more lewd about it now, bobbing more explicitly and moaning throatily as he slurped on Sherlock’s cock. That was only half of what was driving Sherlock mad, though. Mary had given the balloon another blow and then…

_BANG!_

John jumped but Sherlock was prepared for it and held his head down as he came hard down his throat with a strangled cry. John swallowed it down and then popped off, glancing over his shoulder at Mary.

“Was that… some sort of…” John started to ask, apparently worried Mary had done it to stop them.

“No,” Mary and Sherlock said at the same time.

“I don’t think so with the balloons,” Sherlock stated, “A bit tacky, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Mary agreed with a nod, “Maybe for the honeymoon.”

“Decorations for the honeymoon suite?” John asked in confusion.

“Yeah. Sure,” Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, “Shall I return the favour?”

“Mm, please,” John nodded, then glanced anxiously at Mary for confirmation that it was okay.

“Oh, go right ahead!” Mary encouraged, “I’m planning on gleaning as many tips as I can from this little display.”

Sherlock pounced and John ended up sitting on the floor in front of his chair with his trousers and pants around his ankles while Sherlock sucked his cock enthusiastically. He had John’s legs spred and was running a lubricated digit between his arse cheeks and along his taint while his thumb stroked John’s bollocks.

John moaned and panted, his hands tangled in Sherlock’s hair as he controlled the pace with that bit of bottom-topping that he sometimes did. Sherlock loved it. Loved it when John took control of their sexual encounters. Loved it when he laid back and let Sherlock have his way with him. Loved it when John did anything including smile innocently in his sleep. Sherlock was showing off for him now, doing everything he could to drive John crazy, but he had to acknowledge that he was showing off for Mary quite a bit as well. She was sitting on the coffee table watching them, her breath a bit fast from arousal. Sherlock had no intention of letting her have a bit of John’s cock tonight. Despite months of dating this was the first time he’d gotten John’s pants off. They’d frotted to orgasm more than once, probably on a weekly basis, but there had been a strict pants-on rule between them until John had crawled towards him with obvious desire in his eyes. Sherlock had no intention of letting him even _think_ about going back to that. He turned on the vibration on his finger and John threw his head back to shout in bliss. Swearing like a sailor while jerking his hips wildly. He’d have a very rugburned arse when this was done, and Sherlock couldn’t help but imagine Mary squeezing it for days to come and getting a gasp out of him. It made Sherlock smile around his cock and open his eyes to glance Mary’s way.

She looked thrilled and just a bit jealous. He gave another loud slurp and John came with a long moan of relief. He went limp, his head back and hanging a few inches from the chair cushion. Sherlock gave his cock another few bobs before it got too sensitive and then moved away and winked at Mary. Mary gave him a respectful nod.

“Oh, you’re _good_. Now I know why he’s so worried about us doing anything together.”

“He needn’t be,” Sherlock laughed, “I’ve deleted sex with women. I’ve no idea where to start.”

“Aww, it’s like you’re a virgin!”

“Ugh. No,” Sherlock grimaced.

“Come here, you,” John growled, kissed Sherlock hungrily, and then crawled towards Mary with a feral growl.

They’d been so intense on their flirting that it took a moment to bring John back into focus. He tugged Mary’s trousers and pants down and pressed her legs apart. She was sitting bare-assed on Sherlock’s coffee table. It should have bothered him, but he found himself curiously finding a better vantage point to watch what John was doing. It didn’t help. Most of his activities were hidden from view as he flicked his tongue _somewhere_ between her thighs. Mary was soon panting. John was clearly _very_ talented where this was concerned, likely due to having to perfect it when his body was refusing to allow him sex with Mary very often. He’d had to satisfy her somehow.

Sherlock moved to get a glance at John’s rug burnt ass and began to stroke himself with a slick hand. He was close to climax again when he glanced up to see Mary watching him with a flushed face. His erection vanished almost instantly. Mary gave him a sympathetic look and eased John away from herself.

“I think I’ve given your boyfriend a fright,” Mary told him when he gave her a baffled look.

“Hmm?” John asked, then looked over at Sherlock and his frustrated issue, “Oh, damn. I’m sorry, Sherlock. Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Sherlock shouted angrily, and then stormed off.

“I’d better…” John muttered before Sherlock was out of earshot and in his room. He slammed the door, but John just followed after him, “You okay? Look, I’m sorry. I got a bit carried away and…”

crap. This sucks. Time to start over again. Damn it, muse, get with the program!!

[CHAPTER 7](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/152980.html)


	7. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 7

 

**PLEASE READ: Don’t worry. Only one more chapter of John being a whiny twat. He’s going to get it together. I promise. And it will be both cute and sexy as hell.**

 

“Mary!” Sherlock smiled as he answered the phone.

“ _Sherlock!”_ The chipper voice crowed back, “ _So how’s my future Sister Wife?”_

The both laughed. Their fake enthusiasm made it fun. They both were walking a thin line and communication was important, especially since John was _not_ communicating well.

“Fine,” Sherlock smiled, sinking down in his stool and turning off the Bunsen burner, “John was not receptive last night, though.”

_“Yes, he came home cranky. I rather thought he’d blown you off rather than blown you.”_

Sherlock chuckled, “He’s so back and forth. I’m ashamed to admit that I’m confused by his pattern of behavior.”

_“He’s unsure of himself. He’s ready to take things to the next level with you, I’m sure he is, but he’s so afraid of mucking it up.”_

“I can understand that reaction,” Sherlock replied, forcing himself to be honest with her.

“ _You’ll be fine, dear. Just remember that we both love him and we need to support him in this.”_

“I wish I really _could_ be your Sister Wife,” Sherlock said softly, trying out the idea on her with a false tone of regret to seal the deal.

“ _Oh, darling,”_ Mary sighed, _“I wish you could, too. It’s just so wrong that the laws still don’t let Androids marry. Someday.”_

“Yes. Someday,” Sherlock replied, his mind whirling through thought. Mary _was_ committed to this strange relationship of theirs. She was accepting of it. Sherlock was surprisingly comfortable with her.

_I was surprisingly comfortable with Moriarty and The Woman, too. That should mean something, shouldn’t it?_

“Mary?” Sherlock questioned carefully, “Have you figured out my fetish yet? You haven’t asked about it in a bit.”

Mary giggled, “ _I’m working on a routine.”_

“A routine?”

“ _For John’s bachelor party, of course! I’m going to do a little dance for him… and he won’t realize it’s for you, too!”_

“A dance…” Sherlock replied, his mouth inexplicably dry. He forced his ‘saliva’ pumps to reactivate and ran a search program to determine why they had stopped. No results.

“ _Yes, an erotic dance featuring_ your _naughty little fetish… which, by the way, I’m finding myself oddly drawn to. You have excellent taste, Sherlock.”_

“Thank you,” Sherlock muttered, his mouth drying up again. He ran another search but it didn’t help any more than the first had, “I have to go. My saliva function seems to be _mal_ functioning.”

_“Okay, see you later, love,”_ Mary replied cheerfully.

Sherlock hung up and did a full systems check. Nothing.

XXX

John’s dreams still predominantly featured gunfire and bombs exploding… and Sherlock. So much Sherlock. Sometimes he woke up hard; sometimes he woke up with his heart breaking; sometimes he woke up with Sherlock standing over him.

“You’re in my room,” John croaked, staring up at him.

“There’s been a murder.”

“You’re in _my room_.”

“Yes, very good. Now perhaps you can move past that and…”

“My room _with Mary_.”

Sherlock blinked a few times, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark room, “Considering you’ve hinted more than once that you’d like to see me engaged in coitus with her…”

“Stop. Stop right there,” John replied, “Some things should _remain_ a fantasy, Sherlock. As hot as that would be I’d rather not compete with you for Mary’s attention. I’d lose.”

“We need to work on your self esteem,” Sherlock sighed, “Especially since Mary is a hopeless flirt and has in fact guessed my fetish. Now about that murder?”

“Just go,” Mary groaned, “He’ll never let us sleep anyway.”

John sighed and climbed out of bed, ignoring his erection and slapping Sherlock’s hand away when he grabbed for it. John dressed, wincing in pain, and made it out into the living room before his resolve broke.

“Okay, fine,” John grumbled, tugging his fly open.

Sherlock dove for his crotch, grinning eagerly, but then hesitated and pulled away with a frown before even giving him a single lick.

“What?” John asked.

“I don’t like this,” Sherlock stated, getting back to his feet.

“Don’t like what?” John asked, “If this is about the case this _really_ won’t take long.”

“Deal with it yourself,” Sherlock snapped irritably, “I’m not going to follow you around like a puppy hoping for you to let me lap at your cock.”

John gaped at him as he opened the door and headed out. His arousal was flagging now, so he stuffed himself back in his trousers and hurried after Sherlock.

“Hey!” John shouted as Sherlock climbed into a cab, “Hey! That’s not… It’s not like that.”

“It feels like it is,” Sherlock replied irritably, “I get that you and Mary want me to learn how to date you, but we aren’t dating. We’re solving cases and making out. It’s pointless. Either this progresses or it stops now. I won’t be tugged about by my dick.”

John sat there in silence for the remainder of the car ride in silence. They were approaching the warehouse district in Wapping when he finally had an answer for Sherlock.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t treat it like it’s some sort of… of…”

“Reward for my good behavior?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Good,” Sherlock replied, slipping out of the cab.

John stood guard while Sherlock picked the padlock on the door to the warehouse. Once it was open they slipped inside and Sherlock carefully shut it behind them. John turned on his torch while Sherlock strode forward. He could see fairly well in the dark, but John didn’t have that luxury. They were moving silently and slowly, and it took a moment for John to decide that they weren’t headed towards a corpse.

“So what’s really going on here?” John whispered.

“Shh!” Sherlock scolded. Then he tripped over a body.

“Huh, so there _is_ a corpse,” John stated, shining the light on the swollen face, “I thought you were having me on.”

“I _was_ ,” Sherlock snarled, dragging himself upright.

“So that wasn’t faked?” John asked with a grin, “You really just tripped over a corpse?”

“Oh shut up!” Sherlock snapped irritably, “I was looking up at the… the…”

“M’yes?” John asked in amusement.

“I was looking at clues!” Sherlock snapped.

“Sure you were,” John chuckled, but before he could rib him about it further the man crawled frantically over to something beside the dead man, “What’s that, then?”

“A laptop, John!” Sherlock crowed.

“Oh my, never seen one of _those_ before!” John teased.

“We need to get this back to Baker Street. It’s out of batteries. I _could_ plug it into myself, but…”

“No! Don’t you dare! Didn’t Mycroft ever teach you not to plug in stranger’s laptops?”

“Yes, but…”

“We’ll take it home. Go put it in a cab and wait there while I call Lestrade.”

“Fine,” Sherlock sighed.

“No. Wait,” John snapped, “I don’t trust you. You stay here and call Lestrade while _I_ sit in the cab with the laptop.”

“Don’t let Lestrade see it.”

“I know!”

XXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock plugged the laptop in and waited a moment before booting it up. John stood behind him leaning against his chair, rubbing his shoulders in anticipation as they explored file after file. The laptop belonged to someone named James Swandale, but it wasn’t until Sherlock brought up a file with a picture of the corpse on the laptop that John realized who he had once been.

“Oh my gods, that’s Baron Brennan!” John gasped, “He’s a barrister! What was he doing in that dump?”

“Unimportant. He was killed to draw us in.”

“Unimport… Sherlock. He’s a _life peer_.”

“Yes, and I’m a sentient android consulting detective. Your point?”

“None at all,” John snorted.

“Good. Now then. We’re on a treasure hunt!”

“Oh, please tell me we’re looking for Anneka Rice’s bum?” John quipped.

“Who?” Sherlock asked, his tone distracted, “Look at this, John. Swandale is a jewel thief, I’ve heard of him but never had the pleasure, who has the unique ability to fit into small places because he’s a midget.”

“Is that the correct word these days?” John worried.

“Who cares? He’s short. Very, very short. And he’s planning a heist, which he has been _oh so kind_ to leave proof of on this laptop!”

“So it’s…”

“A trap, yes.”

“Obviously, but why? Why lead us to an innocent man he’d killed? Why a laptop full of clues to his next heist? Why send me the e-mails at all? Is someone setting up Swandale?”

“To invite us to come and play,” Sherlock smirked, then stood up and strapped on his sword before handing me my coat, “Let’s stop by yours and get your gun. Terribly inconvenient that you don’t live here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll talk to Mary about it.”

“Good. Swandale has the plans to Giles Conover’s house in…”

“Who?”

“A 90’s pop star. Big on the indie scene.”

“The what?”

“We’re going to stake out his house and see if we can’t catch ourselves a little thief!”

“Bad jokes, Sherlock. Baaad jokes.”

They arrived at the house in the evening and Sherlock told John to find a way to the roof.

<img src=” <http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2014/03/24/article-2587971-1C87EBCF00000578-661_634x503.jpg> ” />

“The roof. The _actual_ roof,” John asked.

“We’ve done so before.”

“Yeah, with ladders and such. Or permission to climb the stairs and go _out_ on the roof. Or it being a public building where we’d only get a slap on the wrist.”

“That would spoil everything.”

“Spoil our attempt at stopping the heist, or spoil your fun?”

“Both.”

John sighed and climbed up on a garden trellace, shakily moved to the top of the shed, crossed that and climbed a drain pipe that creaked ominously, then made his way up to the roof with a gasp of horror just as the drainpipe detached a bit from the wall. He glanced down at where Sherlock stood in the shadows, obvious by the faint glow of his eyes. John decided texting was smarter than shouting.

**Now how will you get up, genius?**

**I’ll find another way. SH**

**I could be sleeping right now.**

**You could be having wild sex with one of your two lovers. Yet here we are. SH**

**What’s that supposed to mean?**

Sherlock tapped him on the shoulder and John instinctively kicked out, knocked his legs out from under him, and sat on him before he realized the bastard had snuck up on him.

“Asshole!” John hissed, “I could have ripped your head off!”

“Yes, but instead you’ve succeeded in arousing me. Honestly, my newfound ability to find violence attractive instead of terrifying is rather alarming.”

“That’s your fetish?” John scoffed, “Should I be spanking you from now on?”

“No and no. I meant you being so…,” Sherlock ran a finger down the front of John’s chest, “Provocative.”

“I’m not being… I’m not… I wasn’t… You’re giving me mixed signals!” John hissed.

“I’m inviting you to take things to the next level without making it feel as if I have to _earn_ it.”

“You _do_ have to earn it,” John whispered back, “Two years I thought you were dead, remember?”

“I have to earn your _trust_ , John,” Sherlock hiss angrily, “Will you make me wait two _more_ years? Did that bomb scare teach you nothing?”

“Yeah, _that I can’t trust you_. You’ve hurt me, Sherlock. A fucking _lot_. I’m not trying to milk it, you know. I’m not being a… a…”

“An emotional harpy?”

“Yeah, that. I’m just trying to make this work. Make this a future for us. Not a sexcapade, Sherlock. That was fine before, but I’m a different person now. You told me once you wanted something _deeper_ than marriage, well I’m telling you now that I _need_ something deeper than marriage from you. We can’t just be friends who fuck, we need to be lovers who are friends who fuck. Okay?”

“That’s redicu-“ Sherlock stopped, seeing the look of outrage forming on John’s face, “-lously obvious. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Of course. I’ll calm down a bit and we’ll take this at your pace.”

“Good,” John climbed off Sherlock, “Now what did you mean about two lovers?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock growled, “You’ll never manage to be in a polygamous relationship if you can’t deal with the fact that you’re _in a polygamous relationship_. John, you have two lovers. I know you have two lovers. Mary knows you have two lovers. You are _not_ cheating! I adore Mary. We’re friends. We chat every day. She’s fun. You like her. I like her. She seems to like me or is a _very_ convincing actress. Stop being a prude!”

“A prude! I… I’ll show you _prudish_!” John hissed, and launched himself at Sherlock.

The motion toppled the man backwards onto the roof and John ended up between Sherlock’s thighs were he took full advantage. He was just about to start rutting furiously, with full mind of coming in his trousers before finding a way down the building again and going home, when Sherlock hissed and rolled them over several times. He scrambled up, grabbed John’s jumper, and dragged him around a chimney.

“What?” John asked, alert and concerned.

Sherlock pointed to something lying on the ground near where they’d been standing. It took John a moment of squinting to figure out what it was. A dart. The same sort that had killed Brennan in the warehouse, likely by poisoning if John had gotten the symptoms right.

“Oh my gods.”

“Trap, remember?”

“You distracted me!” John whispered.

“Exactly why we need to start engaging in sex regularly. You’re much more focused when you’ve gotten a leg over. Oral doesn’t sate you as well as…” Sherlock’s arm flew out in front of John and a dart embedded itself in him, “Oh my gods… John… Gol…”

Sherlock started convulsing.   
  


[CHAPTER 8](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/154795.html)


	8. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 8

 

John grabbed the dart and yanked it out. Sherlock stopped convulsing immediately, but he still looked disoriented so John dragged him around the chimney to avoid being shot again.

“John?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah?” John asked distractedly as he scanned the area and tried to figure out where the shooter was.

“John, you have two _heads_ ,” Sherlock informed him.

“Great, you’re high,” John muttered under his breath.

“John… one of them is between your _legs_.”

“Shut it,” John hissed, “I’m trying to keep us alive.”

“I want your head to fuck me.”

“Where?” John growled angrily, still unable to find their shooter.

“Anywhere,” Sherlock replied, “I’d even let you fuck my _nose_.”

“Shut _up_!” John hissed.

He could hear footsteps. Someone had just jumped from one part of the roof to another. The feet moved slowly though, the steps covering a large amount of distance. _Not our dart shooter, than. So who is that?_

John eased Sherlock to one side, trying to keep an eye on him while he slid the safety off his gun. Beside him Sherlock shifted his coat aside to grip the handle of his sword. When John glanced at him he gave him a steady glance, his face clear of the stupefaction it had previously held. John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock nodded confidently.

Around the corner came a man who seemed as tall as a tree from where John was sprawled on the ground. He shouted out a warning as the man raised his fists, hands gripped together, intent on caving in Sherlock’s artificial skull. Sherlock swung his arm up, sword flying to connect with the man’s forearm… with the sword still in his scabbard and his scabbard still attached to his belt. He flailed on the ground for a moment, looking much like a fish out of water, while John stood up to get clear of the man so he could aim his gun if needed. Sherlock grabbed his ankle and John went over. The ‘thwack’ of a dart hitting the ground reminded John that there was a second shooter, but he was too damn _distracted_ by Sherlock’s bewildered presence. John brought his gun up just as the man regained his balance from Sherlock’s hard hit to his arm (broken) and lifted a leg to kick Sherlock.

“Run!” John shouted.

“Good idea!” Sherlock shouted, and John didn’t even have time to _savour_ him actually saying those words as he darted around the chimney in time to nearly trip over a tiny little man with a dart gun in his hand.

The man wasn’t prepared to shoot them so he ran, darting around a group of fenced off skylights. John and Sherlock took off after him, he being the more elusive and deadly foe, but he turned and shot at them.

“Duck John!” Sherlock shouted, and he barely did in time to avoid another dart.

“One’s going after me and one after you,” John shouted as they rounded it again.

“This is an assassination turned circus act!” Sherlock shouted back, ducking a swing from the good arm of the gigantic man as they rounded the turn again.

This time Sherlock managed to get his sword out and took a staggering swing at him, which he dodged before toppling over the edge of the building.

“Well that was easy,” Sherlock stated, then turned and tried to swing at the man running after John while loading another dart, “Damn! Missed!”

John turned around suddenly and tackled him. Sherlock joined in, but got in the way more than he helped. John finally shouted at him to back off and he rolled away onto his back. John shouted for the cuffs and Sherlock tossed them in his general direction. John took a foot to his gut but managed to pin the man down long enough to cuff one hand, but couldn’t catch the other so he snapped it onto the fence around the skylights.

“John!” Sherlock shouted, and then grabbed the unrestrained arm just as John scrambled back.

John stared in horror at the wrist gripped in Sherlock’s fist. A dart.

“It’s just gold, right?” John asked, panting a bit.

“Wrong,” Sherlock replied, “The tip has white powder on it. That’s idocain powder. It would have killed you before I could even dial 999. Who sent you to assassinate us?”

“And why did you do it by _cheating_?” John demanded angrily.

Sherlock gave him a surprised look, “How exactly does one _cheat_ on an assassination?”

“Yeah?” Swandale demanded, looking equally confused.

“He lured us here with the promise of a dangerous case!” John argued, “You should be as mad as I am!”

“You got your danger, why are you complaining?” Sherlock pointed out.

“But you didn’t get your case?”

“I’ve got your post-danger hard-on. I’m good for now. Again: why are you complaining?”

“Yeah!” Swandale agreed, “Wait, what?”

“Shut up,” Sherlock snapped, “You tried to kill my boyfriend, be glad I haven’t broken the wrist I’m gripping now. Drop the dart.”

Swandale considered the situation a moment, then sighed and let the dart drop. John texted Lestrade but he called them immediately while Sherlock was still questioning the man as to who had tried to have them assassinated.

“Sherlock?” John stammered, turning to stare at him in alarm, “Lestrade says to get down to a crime scene that Mycroft has secured… he says there’s an elephant?”

Sherlock’s head shot up and his eyes were gleaming with excitement, “I _knew_ it!”

 

A/N From here on out things get a bit wonky, because I’m following John’s blog and he doesn’t post the Elephant In The Room right away. Sorry for the confusion, but it’s how I’m working it.   
  


 [CHAPTER 9](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/156404.html)


	9. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 9

Ryder Lane was a charming place with Tardis blue balconies and doors, trees in bloom, understated brickwork, and plenty of parking. Deborah Susan Ryder was the daughter of Margaret Susan Cheshire, Baroness Ryder of Warsaw and Baroness Cheshire, British volunteer with Special Operations Executive, founder of the charity now named [Sue Ryder](http://www.sueryder.org/). That was quite a bit to live up to, but when John and Sherlock walked into her flat on the street named for her mother she seemed to be doing rather well for herself in the shock and awe department.

Standing in the center of her flat was an elephant. An African Elephant, Sherlock explained once he got done gaping at the creature. It was standing there looking bored with two bodies and an enormous amount of feces scattered about. One of the unfortunate bodies was beneath all that poop.

“How on _earth_ did they get it in here?” Sherlock wanted to know, stepping over one of the bodies in the room as if it were so much rubbish on the floor.

“Umm… Sherlock?” John asked, staring down at the woman on the floor.

“I mean, the balcony is the obvious choice, but you’d expect to see some damage on the…”

“ _Sherlock_ ,” John snapped, “I can’t believe I’m pointing this out to you twice in one lifetime, but there’s a body at your feet you’ve managed to not notice.”

“I saw it,” Sherlock replied, waving his hand, “That’s your area. Tell me how they died while I try to figure this out.”

John rolled his eyes and then stepped over to examine the man on the floor. He looked him over studiously but found nothing remarkable except that he was a very, very old man.

“I’d need an autopsy done to be sure, but I’m thinking this is natural.”

“Dull,” Sherlock sighed, “The woman’s mode of death is obvious.”

“You’re sure it’s a woman?” John asked.

All that was visible were a pair of feet and they were bare. Sherlock gave John a disgusted look and he shrugged.

“Okay, yeah. You’re sure. You’re always sure. Please tell me she was dead _before_ she was covered in a pile of elephant dung?”

“Your area,” Sherlock replied with an evil grin.

<http://files.sharenator.com/elephant_poop-s400x229-89428.jpg>

 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not. I have limits, Sherlock, and two tons of shit are _way_ beyond my imaginary line in the sand. I’m hoping _someone_ checked for a pulse?” John asked the two men in suits framing Mycroft.

“Your area, doctor,” Mycroft smirked.

“Right then. For the record I hate you all,” John stated firmly, “Also it isn’t necessary to dig the poor thing out to check her pulse.”

John knelt down and felt along her ankle until he found a suitable vein and waited. She was stone cold, her joints stiff, and no pulse could be felt.

“Deceased between… four and twenty hours.”

“How accurate is that?” Mycroft wanted to know, “That’s a wide range.”

“That’s as accurate as you’re going from me without an assistant, a shovel, a hose, and about four bottles of disinfectant,” John replied in irritation.

He stood up and gave Sherlock an annoyed look. The mood was decidedly killed, which was doubly frustrating after their lovely moment on the way to this scene from the last. They’d had to walk two blocks to hail a cab from the rooftop they’d been on when Sherlock had refused to accept a ride from the officers that had come to take Swandale away. On the way there John had seen a fairly tidy alley between two posh houses and had pushed Sherlock down it and pinned him against the wall to snog his brains out.

_“I’m ready,” John breathed, nipping along his neck, “No more teasing, waiting, nothing. I don’t even know what I was waiting for anymore.”_

_Sherlock had moaned throatily and twisted them about, pushing John against the wall and assaulting him with everything he had. They were soon frotting hungrily, but John wanted more._

_“Fuck me,” John growled, tugging at his trousers, “I want you inside me. Now.”_

_Sherlock had stepped back a distressed look on his face, “Here?”_

_“Yeah,” John grinned, slipping one leg out of his trousers and stroking his cock, “Kinky, right?”_

_John turned around and Sherlock stepped forward, stroking his hands along John’s hips as he stared down at the body he’d desired. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of John’s neck and stepped away with a sigh._

_“Put your clothes back on,” Sherlock replied, his tone remorseful._

_“What? Why?” John asked, turning around, “Sherlock, I swear. I’m not being a prat again, I just…”_

_“I know you’re not,” Sherlock replied, “This is your usual post-danger hard-on. Normally I love them, but…”_

_“But what?” John asked, flushed with humiliation and immediately flaccid as he tugged his clothes back into place._

_“But I don’t want to do this here.”_

_“Why? It’s pretty clean.”_

_“Yes, but… John it’s been over two years.”_

_“Yeah, so?”_

_“So you have another lover now.”_

_“Okay. I thought you’d managed to be okay with that?”_

_“I am. Mostly. I’m jealous sometimes obviously, but Mary is good for you and… that’s not what I mean.”_

_“What, then?”_

_Sherlock sighed, rubbing at the back of his head in embarrassment, “It’s so disgustingly sentimental.”_

_John stared at him in confusion for a moment and then a smile spread over his face, “No way. Say it.”_

_“No.”_

_“Sherlock Holmes, I have to pull your teeth to get you to tell me you love me… or at least be standing over a bomb. Don’t you dare clam up now. You started this bit of sappiness now finish it. Go on. Say it. You don’t want to have sex with me here so you can…”_

_Sherlock looked away in disgust, “So I can make love to you in your old bed.”_

_John snickered, then Sherlock chuckled, and soon they were laughing at each other and holding tight while they pressed little kisses to each other’s lips and cheeks._

_“I love you, you smarmy git,” John laughed._

_“I…” Sherlock hesitated, “You know how I feel.”_

_“I do, but say it.”_

_“I’ve humiliated myself enough for one evening. Come on. I’ve been waiting for this elephant to surface for days.”_

“Odd,” Sherlock mused, staring through John rather than at him.

“What is? I mean, what _else_ is?”

“Sue Ryder’s mother was a life peer.”

“So?”

“So was Daniel Brennan.”

“Yeah, but Sue Ryder has been dead for over a decade. That _might_ be her daughter…”

Sherlock snorted, “Of course it’s her daughter.”

“Fine. It’s her daughter, but _she’s_ not a life peer… is she?”

“No. She’s made no outstanding contributions to our world as of yet. The Honourable Ms. Deborah Ryder was just starting to make a name for herself outside of her mother’s work.”

“So what happened here?” John asked.

“Who is he?” Sherlock asked Mycroft rather than answer John, “His name, only. I’ve deduced the rest.”

“Have you?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied irritably, “Male, mid-nineties, suffering from Alzheimer’s, treated in Sue Ryder’s facilities, former MI6 agent with the intelligence branch. I’m assuming he’s your predecessor, but I’ve never been given a name for him despite your frequent references.”

Mycroft gave the man on the floor a sad look and sighed, “It’s true, he was my predecessor. What a pity that such a brilliant man should be reduced to a babbling, drooling imbecile. Old age comes to us all in the end.”

“Not all of us,” Sherlock shrugged, “His name?”

“Unimportant.”

“You know I detest mystery on _both_ ends, brother,” Sherlock scowled.

“He’s a pawn in this,” Mycroft replied, “He was in hospice care when he remembered something he shouldn’t have, but not to keep quiet about it. Ms. Ryder was in contact with us but suddenly vanished off the map. She reappeared here, woke her neighbors with what they thought was a blaring TV, and then was found dead by the landlord when he let himself in to find out what all the noise was about.”

“Was Ms. Ryder attempting to gain from the information?” Sherlock asked.

“Not at all,” Mycroft replied, “She was quite alarmed and moved him from the center to her own flat to keep others from hearing the information. She has been caring for him for a week while we scrambled about like idiots to make use of information we didn’t know he’d had for years.”

“It was still _relevant_?” Sherlock asked, scoffing, “In light of the situation I assumed it was recent.”

“You mean since the elephant was irrigated?” Mycroft replied, “I’ve no explanation as to why she decided to do such a thing.”

“Okay,” John cut it, “Someone explain it to me in _normal_ human speak.”

“Go on, Sherlock,” Mycroft scoffed, “You speak goldfish.”

Sherlock sighed, “Denial.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mycroft snapped, looking disgusted.

“Sad, lonely, denial,” Sherlock replied, giving Mycroft a mockingly sad look.

“Who?” John asked.

“Just because you see fit to spend your time persuing not one, _but two_ relationships…”

“ _Him_?” John asked, gaping, “Has he even got a cock?”

“Of course I’ve got a...!” Mycroft stopped, pressing his lips together in offense of what he’d almost uttered, “Sherlock, do your duties to your country!”

That settled it. John’s face twisted into a grin and the ‘elephant in the room’ they’d all been ignoring bubbled to the surface.

“Doodies!” The man to Mycroft’s right snickered.

“I did not say…!” Mycroft stammered in horror.

John was doubled over with laughter and Sherlock was leaning on his back laughing as well.

“Good gods, there’s a woman dead in the room! Show some humanity!” Mycroft snapped.

“As if you care,” Sherlock snickered, “Unless _she_ was your goldfish?”

“Certainly not!” Mycroft shouted over the laughter.

“Of course,” Sherlock laughed, “She’s not cultured enough for you. Of course, for some people bacteria _is_ the only culture they have!”

John and the guards redoubled their laughter.

“Did you hear that diarrhea is hereditary?” John snickered.

“I don’t think that’s accurate,” Sherlock sobered a moment, giving John an irritated look.

“It runs in the genes!” John cracked up. Sherlock doubled over laughing.

One of the guards spoke up then, “What do you get when you cross a bulldog and a shih tzu?”

John and Sherlock both answered that one, “A bullshit!”

“Hilarious,” Mycroft deadpanned.

“Oh my gods, death by shit,” John gasped, “The poor woman. We really should stop laughing.”

“In a minute,” Sherlock gasped, trying to compose himself, “I’ve just got one more thing to say.”

Everyone paused, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

“Silent but deadly.”

The room erupted in more laughter and Mycroft strode off in disgust.

“Good,” Sherlock stated, straightening up and wiping the grin off his face in an instant, “Now that _he’s_ out of the room you two monkeys can go as well.”

Sherlock made a shooing motion at the two men, who stood there looking uncomfortable and glancing at Sherlock, the room, and the direction Mycroft had headed off in.

“We’re not supposed to leave, sir,” The first replied.

“Yeah, I know,” Sherlock replied, “But now we’ve commiserated and shared a laugh you should inexplicably trust me and do as I suggest.”

John snickered, “Jokes over, Sherlock. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not? You do it all the time,” Sherlock frowned.

“You pointed out it was ruse, that makes you less trustworthy. Stick to getting people to talk to you via flirtation, aggression, and fake sympathy. Those are your forte.”

Sherlock sighed, “Well so much for branching out. I’ll have to work on that one. Fine. You two can stay. I don’t really need you gone anyway.”

“What’s the deal?” John asked, “You and Mycroft have a falling out?”

“Not exactly,” Sherlock replied, “He’s keeping secrets from me so I’m returning the favour.”

Sherlock stepped over to the enormous dung pile and scooped up a sample with a swab. He slipped it into a bag and pocketed it to John’s disgust.

“Relax, it’s in a bag,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Still gross,” John replied, “What sort of secrets?”

Sherlock stood up and paused, giving John a worried sort of look, “John… what happened after I left?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did something bad happen to you? Something awful?”

John’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought back, “Besides losing my best friend and lover? No, not really. There isn’t much worse than can happen to a bloke.”

“I suppose you would see it that way,” Sherlock wondered, “Don’t you ever wonder why you’ve… changed so much?”

“What do you mean?” John asked, shifting about and heading towards the open balcony so the stench wasn’t quite as bad, “How have I changed?”

Sherlock, however, had slipped into one of his silent reveries and was staring at the track of the balcony.

“It really is odd how there is simply no sign how they got it _up_ here,” Sherlock marveled.

“Maybe they used some sort of pulley system,” John suggested, knowing that when Sherlock ended a conversation like that he meant it to stay ended.

“Yes, but the track!” Sherlock exclaimed, “No scuffing. Not even to show that something was laid down to protect it. I’ll check the other rooms, you get the coroner up here. He’s likely dithering with Mycroft downstairs since his vehicle has been here for several minutes.

John headed downstairs and pulled the coroner away from the where Mycroft was reading him the riot act. The man followed John with a grateful glance.

“Who was he?” He asked, “How the hell does he know where my mother lives?”

“Don’t ask, just be very, very, very well behaved,” John replied, “And put on whatever full-body gear you have because you’re going to need it.”

XXX

Poor Deborah Ryder had in fact died of suffocation, but she’d been unconscious when it had happened. The woman had given the elephant an enema, piping the water in from her sink with a hose. She’d had a kiddy pool beneath to catch the mess and a tarp under that. When the animal had let loose she’d ended up kicked, knocking her unconscious, and had fallen into the kiddie pool. It had then filled up and she’d died. The water had been turned off so at some point the man in the room with her (Sherlock was calling him Bond Sr) had been alive and witnessed the horror since there was no sign that anyone else was present. Sherlock decided he’d died laughing but John and the coroner both refused to place that on the death certificate. John was feeling more than a bit guilty for laughing at her fate now the moment had passed and the poor woman was cleaned up and stretched out on the cold metal table like any other victim.

In the end they walked away with nothing, so they headed home for what John assumed would be a quiet night of movies.

**A/N We WILL be revisiting this. Don’t worry, I’m not letting it go at that!**

 

_The Sue Ryder Charity does exist, but I am not advocating it. Donate if you feel called to, but this is here for information purposes only._ [ _http://www.sueryder.org/_ ](http://www.sueryder.org/) __

_Death by Defecation Urban Legend (not true) -_ [ _http://www.darwinawards.com/legends/legends1998-09.html_ ](http://www.darwinawards.com/legends/legends1998-09.html) __

 


	10. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 10

 

John and Sherlock returned to Baker Street where John headed straight to the shower, expecting Sherlock to go into a mid-case funk and spend the night pacing and playing the violin as he tried to work out the mysteries of the Elephant in the Room. Instead he found his shower being shared by a handsy android with a cheerful grin on his face.

“Oh, this is a pleasant surprise,” John grinned, “I thought you’d be focused on elephant dung.”

“No more dung, John,” Sherlock scolded, picking up John’s body wash, “I want to scrub you down and then sex you up.”

John paused in shock at the terrible line and then burst out laughing, “This has been a strange day. Yeah. A _very_ strange day. You’re in an odd mood, you know that?”

“I’m enjoying what I can of you,” Sherlock replied, with a grin as he soaped up the sponge, “Before you marry in August.”

“You know we’ll still be together,” John scolded.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied as he ran soapy hands over John’s shoulders and down his back, pressing their fronts together, “But you’ll be going on your sex holiday without me.”

“What makes you think that?” John scolded with a grin, “I might want my sexy boyfriend on my sex holiday.”

“You’ll have a sexy wife on your sex holiday,” Sherlock snickered, grabbing his arse.

“I’ll still have room for my sexy boyfriend,” John replied softly, leaning up to kiss him slowly.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss with a soft moan, gripping John’s soapy arse and enjoying the feel of his flesh sliding about. The man’s chest hair tickled his and he leaned into him to rub their chests together.

“What are you doing?” John laughed.

“Enjoying the feel of your hairy chest.”

“Good grief,” John laughed, “It’s barely hairy.”

“It’s hairier than mine.”

Sherlock gave his chest a wiggle and their cocks rubbed together as if sword fighting. John snickered and Sherlock laughed deeply, leaning in to nibble on his earlobe.

“We’re going to have weird sex, aren’t we?” John asked, chuckling a bit even as he rubbed his hips against his lover.

“Is there any other kind?” Sherlock wondered.

“With you? Never.”

They washed quickly, kissing and teasing each other as they went, before heading upstairs. John had slipped on his robe, but Sherlock was being absolutely wicked and chasing him up the stairs starkers. John collapsed into his bed with a grin, pulling his knees up with his hands and grinning as Sherlock stared at his spread cheeks as if he were a shark after a meal.

“Like what you see?” John asked, feeling more desired than he had in ages.

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied with a snort, pulling the tie on John’s robe and slipping it off his arms with his cooperation.

“You haven’t changed.”

“I have,” Sherlock replied, “And so have you.”

John’s grin faltered and dropped his legs, “Well, it’s been a bit. I’ve sort of… aged I suppose.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Sherlock kneeled on the edge of the bed, “You look the same as when I left, John. No different.”

“Sure I do,” John laughed a bit, “I’ve got more grey hair.”

“Do you?” Sherlock asked, looking at John as if he were a puzzle.

“Sure.”

“You do,” Sherlock stated, looking confused.

“Well yeah,” John replied, shifting on the bed, “I’m human, Sherlock. I’m going to age. I’ll be… old and wrinkly some day. You know all this. I thought it didn’t matter to you.”

“It doesn’t it’s just… a surprise.”

John sighed, “Killing the mood a bit.”

“Right! Yes! The mood!” Sherlock stated expressively, “Lube!”

“Yeah, that’s a start,” John chuckled.

Sherlock held up his index finger and crooked it with a sassy smirk on his face; “Let me reintroduce you to your prostate, John.”

John’s eyes widened in desire and he jerked his legs back up again, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m sure.”

Sherlock leaned over John’s body, smiling down at the man he loved, and stroked his pucker with the tip of one damp finger. It took less time than he’d expected for John’s body to relax and welcome him in and he was quickly up to the first knuckle. He let a bit of lube slide out of the finger and into John’s hot body, watching the man squirm at the warm flood of fluid.

“I can’t wait till that’s your come,” John growled, his pupils blown.

“You are absolutely intoxicating like this,” Sherlock whispered, “How is it that I remember every second of our time together and yet this feels so new? Even your scent is addictive.”

Sherlock leaned forward and mimed breathing in John’s aroma from his neck, but they both knew that wasn’t how he smelled things.

“What’s it like?” John asked, “Tell me.”

“I can sift through every pheromone you have. I can literally smell when you’re aroused, John. Not just a bit hot and bothered, but that moment when your cock starts to ache in anticipation of my touch…”

“Gods!” John gasped, gripping his thighs, “Hurry up!”

Sherlock smirked, rotating his finger before adding a second, “You’re going to scream for me, John.”

“If that will get you to fuck me, I’ll sing the bloody anthem! Go on with it!”

Sherlock leaned down and lapped at his neck, “I can tell you every ingredient in your cologne.”

“I’d rather you tell me how tight my arse is,” John growled, releasing his thighs to grab Sherlock’s curls and snog him senseless.

Sherlock moaned and rubbed his cock against John’s thigh, groaning with need while curling his fingers to draw soft cries from John’s mouth as he writhed on the bed. The man threw his legs around Sherlock’s waist and tried to actually pull him into him that way, panting and gasping with desire as Sherlock fucked him with his fingers.

“Sherlock!” John cried out.

Sherlock slipped his fingers free rather than answer his cry and the man growled like a wild thing, clawing at Sherlock’s shoulders and tugging at his hair. He was past words, aroused to the point of savage, and Sherlock found he had to pin him in order to have his way with the flailing man. He pressed the head of his cock against John’s entrance, lifting his hips while the man bit at his neck. The bot took a breath in and then pressed inside of his beloved for the first time in what felt like an eternity. This wasn’t about getting off. This was about holding him in the most intimate way possible.

_Gods if I cry I might have to really kill myself_ , Sherlock decided, but then John’s muscles fluttered around his cock and all thought left his mind.

Sherlock sank inside of him completely, stilled as John gasped and shivered beneath him until his body adjusted a bit, and then slowly drew back out again. For a moment they were silent as they both stared down at where their bodies were joined together, watching Sherlock sink back inside of him. Then John looked up at Sherlock’s face and smiled, Sherlock beamed back down at him, and tension that neither knew was there drained away. John’s hands tangled in Sherlock’s curls again, pulling his mouth down for a kiss. Sherlock moaned against his lips, offering up his full bottom lip for John to bite as he loved to do. They were rolling their hips together now, the rhythm they had fallen into before Sherlock’s fall found again. It was a smooth and erotic, familiar and new, exciting and soothing, loving and brutal. Sherlock’s hips sped up, snapping eagerly as he chased his release. He had no intention of holding back and John absolutely loved that about him. Sherlock was quickly reaching the point of mindless pleasure; his eyes clenched shut and his face flushed. Beneath him John was moaning and gripping him tightly with his thighs.

“So fucking big,” John moaned, “Fucking _fill_ me up.”

“Yes!” Sherlock gasped, and thrust through his first orgasm with a growl of pleasure that turned into a shout bordering on roar.

“Fuck!” John gasped, and slipped a hand between them to stroke himself slowly, “A bit up.”

Sherlock changed the angle, panting as his body prepped itself for a second release. He could feel the pumps in his body shifting to reset the pleasure and ejaculation program. His cock throbbed inside of John’s body as he stared down at his lover working himself faster. He adjusted the angle again to stroke the flushed man’s prostate, watching a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. He leaned down and lapped the salty substance up, moaning as his body registered John’s scent, taste, and chemical makeup all at once.

“John,” Sherlock gasped, “Open your eyes. Let me see them. _Look_ at me.”

John’s blue eyes flew open and Sherlock saw that he knew what he wanted. That look of obsessed passion, of awe and wonder, of admiration and lust that Sherlock _craved_ from his faithful blogger and lover. John bathed him in it, drenched him in love and veneration, gave him everything he needed that simple oil and maintenance could not supply. Sherlock felt full on it, sated in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with _John_.

“John!” Sherlock gasped, “Gods, you’re my _air!_ ”

John groaned, spilling himself between his fingers and across his chest. His eyes flickered shut and open again, his face red and his mouth open as he panted in pleasure. He mouthed Sherlock’s name, shivering as his free hand gripped Sherlock’s shoulder so tightly it hurt. Sherlock didn’t regret a second of it.

John went limp. The arm clasping Sherlock’s shoulder flopped above his head, the other one sagged onto his belly, and his legs splayed on the bed. Sherlock grinned, pulled out, and rolled his limp lover onto his stomach. He propped his hips up with a pillow, carefully pushed back inside, and then took him savagely. He pounded into John’s limp body, bouncing him on the bed like a ragdoll. He could see a dreamy smile on his face so he felt no shame in taking him so violently. He was going to sate every urge he had without remorse. He had already been close just from seeing John reach culmination, so it didn’t take long for him to reach his own pleasure. He pulled out quickly, tugging on his cock until he came across John’s back. Then he leaned down and lapped up, pressing his tongue hard so it felt more intimate rather than tickling. He took the opportunity to add love bites to John’s back, grinning at the thought of Mary seeing them later.

“Is that an ‘S’ you’ve bitten into my back?”

“Possibly.”

“If I show up next time with an ‘M’ somewhere on me you don’t get to get snippy. You started it.”

“I wonder how many places on you will bruise well?” Sherlock wondered.

“That’s not creepy at all,” John snickered.

“I want to leave you reminders for when you’re away from me,” Sherlock told the little mole on John’s hip.

“I never forget you when I’m away from you,” John promised the pillow.

“Move back in.”

“Not yet. Soon.”

“Why not?” Sherlock demanded, turning angry instantly.

John rolled over, “We’re stuck in our lease. October.”

“Stay here. I won’t charge you.”

John snickered, “How benevolent of you. I’ll talk it over with Mary. You know I miss it here.”

“I know you love me,” Sherlock stated, and was surprised by how relieved he felt by saying it out loud.

“I know you love me too,” John replied with a chuckle, “You’re… brilliant.”

Sherlock beamed and John smiled back, content in the warmth in his lover’s eyes. 


	11. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 11

 

The Poison Giant took place on May 27th. The Elephant In The Room was mentioned in John’s blog during that case, but not actually catalogued until June 10th. This takes place in between the two. I’ve decided to make it take place the day after to avoid time gaps and have John simply document them both later on.

<http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog/03june>

 

John was off for a few days in a row so he slept in on his night over in Baker Street. By the time he wandered downstairs it was nearly noon and Sherlock was looking bored.

“You crack the case?” John asked

“Not yet,” Sherlock sighed, “There was nothing in the feces. Mycroft is keeping far too much information from me lately.”

“I suppose he’s entitled,” John shrugged, “Being… whatever he is.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock groaned, sinking down in his chair and closing his eyes.

“What are we looking for, anyway? I mean, besides how they managed to get an elephant smuggled into England and up into a flat.”

“No idea. I suppose I’ll know it when I see it.”

John wandered to the window and stared out it, hoping for something to intervene before Sherlock got snarky. Mary was supposed to join them soon for their couples date, but she’d been out that morning working on things for the wedding with her bridesmaids. John was dreading the wedding banter, especially since Sherlock had launched himself into the planning like a stereotypical GBF. A case would be better. A case would be… John leaned forward.

“There’s a lady outside.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock repeated, his tone uninterested.

“She’s going to ring the doorbell… oh, nope, she’s changed her mind, oh she’s gonna do it… no she’s leaving,” John sighed, “She’s leaving. She’s coming back.”

“She’s a client. She’s boring. I’ve seen those symptoms before.”

“Hm?”

“Oscillation on the pavement always means there’s a love affair.”

John had been looking at Sherlock so he didn’t see if it was the same woman who rang the bell, the typical hesitant ring that even John recognized as a client, but when Mrs. Hudson welcomed her upstairs it was indeed she and the woman was quite distraught. She was a pretty thing with long dark hair and fair skin, her clothes were clearly of the finest make and her jewelry was high end as well. John was seeing dollar signs but Sherlock was half asleep in his chair.

“Go away and deal with it yourself,” Sherlock stated before the woman could take in a breath to explain, “I suggest getting a lawyer.”

“A lawyer can’t help me, Mr. Holmes,” She stated, her voice shaking.

“Then you shouldn’t have cheated on your husband,” Sherlock replied, “Your case is boring ergo _you_ are boring. Go away.”

“Please,” She pleaded, “I’m Sabrina Jennings. Surely you’ve heard of my family? We can pay you handsomely.”

“Money is boring,” Sherlock replied sharply.

“Not for some of us,” Mrs. Hudson pointed out sharply from behind her, “Especially those of us behind on our rent.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock called out, “That will be all.”

Mrs. Hudson scoffed, but she toddled off anyway.

“You can at least hear her out, Sherlock,” John sighed, “Come in and have a seat Mrs. Jennings.”

“Thank you,” She came in and sat in the usual spot and John took his chair, “I’ve been married to Chris for about five years, but it’s never been happy. I hate him. I know that’s a horrible thing to say, but I do.”

She was in tears already and Sherlock sighed out an ‘oh gods’ in obvious disgust and misery, much put upon to hear her tale of woe.

“Why not just divorce?” John asked.

“Prenup,” Sherlock replied, then sat up and gave her a scathing look, “Mrs. Jennings your marriage is of zero importance in the grand scheme of things so tell me why I should…”

Sherlock paused, his eyes darting over to the door where Sabrina Jennings was also looking. John turned a bit in his chair and smiled up at Mary.

“Hullo,” Mary said, surprised by all the eyes on her at once, “Am I interrupting?”

Mary walked over to John and bussed his forehead. Sherlock’s entire demeanor changed instantly.

“No!” Sherlock jumped up and rushed over to her, taking her by the elbow and guiding her to sit in his own chair, “Come in, Mary! Come in! You’re just in time!”

“In time for what?” She asked, her tone understandably suspicious. John was more than a bit suspicious himself.

Sherlock took to pacing in front of the fireplace, “You’ve obviously got some reason for coming here, Mrs. Jennings.”

“Well, yes…” She replied, looking as confused as the rest of them were skeptical of Sherlock’s behavior.

“You believe he’s having an affair which you can use against him to make the divorce run smoothly,” Sherlock deduced.

“It’s more my family that’s my concern,” She explained anxiously, “They don’t approve of divorce. Even though they all hate Chris I can’t just file and walk away, I have to prove he’s having an affair or doing something illegal. I suspect an affair, so that will work but I need proof. There’s no prenup, by the way. I didn’t sign one. His family isn’t well off so he didn’t insist.”

“I’ve told John to have Mary sign one but he refuses,” Sherlock sighed, “Moronic behavior at its best.”

“Excuse me?” John snapped while Mary gave Sherlock a furious look.

“There’s no excuse for you,” Sherlock replied offhand, “Mrs. Jennings I’ll take your case.”

“Please, call me Sabrina,” She smiled, standing up and holding out her hand, but Sherlock breezed past her to put on his coat and grab his scarf.

“Your address will be needed,” He stated, “I can tell by your heels that you live in Battersea, but the actual house number would speed things along.”

XXX

John and Mary argued the entire ride over, Mary insisting she should get to come along because she’d brought her car and it was their plural date night.

“I’ve not gone on a case with you two yet! I don’t expect you to include me _every_ time, but once in a while…”

“What were you saying about things being the same, John?” Sherlock asked irritably.

“Let it go, Sherlock,” John sighed, “She just wants to come along. What harm could she do? Besides, you like her.”

“Yes, yes,” Sherlock sighed in frustration.

John grinned, “I mean, the way you turned around and took on that case at the sight of her pecking me on the forehead…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Admit it,” John snickered, “You went all soft and cuddly.”

“I don’t do soft and cuddly.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic deep down inside.”

“Fucking you is as romantic as I get.”

Mary gasped, her face breaking out in a grin, “Did you? _Finally_?”

John blushed and smiled, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock and then smiling comfortably at Mary.

“Yeah, we did. About time, I suppose,” John laughed a bit, “I’m not even sure why I was acting so…”

“Ridiculous?” Sherlock suggested.

“Shy?” Mary wondered.

“Hesitant,” John insisted, “I was being _hesitant_. Anyway, it’s over now and we’re in a proper plural relationship. Which means Mary _can_ come along sometimes.”

Sherlock folded his arms and entered a proper sulk, while Mary smiled proudly as if she’d been the one to bugger them both rather than simply encouraging them to sleep together. They completed the drive in silence and Mary made a show of pointing out how awkwardly John was walking.

“He always walks like that,” Sherlock teased back and they shared a giggle together.

“ _If_ you two are done mocking me?”

“Sidekicks deserve nicknames,” Mary whispered as Sherlock picked the lock on the French doors, “Maybe we should call you Captain Bowlegged.”

“You can do better than that, Mary,” Sherlock scolded.

“Assmaster?” Mary suggested.

“Implies BDSM,” Sherlock whispered back, “We’re not into that.”

“Pity. All those handcuffs you own and all,” Mary followed them as they slipped through the posh house, Sherlock easily disabling their alarm with a code he guessed based on a cookbook in the kitchen, “How about The Buggering Badass?”

“I like that one,” John agreed with a grin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock scolded, “It’s too long.”

“The BAMF Blogger,” Mary whispered.

Sherlock had located the safe in the study that Sabrina had told them to find, but he had no code so he brought out John’s stethoscope and started to spin the dial.

“I like that one, too,” John agreed.

“I’m trying to pick a complicated multi-disc combination lock with a mechanical keypad with both a spring-loaded and thermal relock trigger. In other words… _Shhhh!”_

John and Mary fell silent and Sherlock soon had the safe open, but was then stymied when he encountered a second safe within.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” John sighed.

“It requires a thumbprint,” Sherlock growled angrily.

“Well, that’s that,” John replied with a shrug, “We can’t get in. We’ll have to tell Mrs. Jennings we failed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed, “John, what’s the easiest, fastest, and least damaging way you know of to disable a person?”

“Temporarily, I assume?” John asked.

“Of course.”

“Chemical. Knock them out with a mixture meant to render a person unconscious and… Where are you going?”

Sherlock headed back to the kitchen and started rooting around, “Mary find some nail polish remover. John find a pan.”

Sherlock pulled out a bottle of bleach and John set a pan on the burner, both being as quiet as possible. Sherlock located a measuring cup and spoons and set them on the counter. John was immediately grateful that he’d managed to get them all into rubber gloves. Mary slipped back in a few seconds later.

“That was fast,” Sherlock replied softly in surprise.

Mary shrugged, “I woke up Sabrina and asked. They sleep in separate bedrooms.”

Sherlock gave her an admiring glance and nodded his satisfaction, accepting the nail polish from her and pouring a measure into the pan. He then added bleach in a measured dose and turned the burner on low. He snatched up a plastic spoon hanging over the counter but John took it from him and handed him a metal one instead.

“Plastic absorbs. Metal doesn’t.”

“Good point,” Sherlock nodded, stirring their mixture, “When you start to get dizzy turn off the burner.”

“That’s your brilliant plan? When I start to get dizzy turn off the burner?” John hissed at him, “What happened to scientific method, oh great and brilliant chemist?”

John swayed on his feet, his eyes going slightly heavy, and Sherlock quickly reached over to turn off the burner while Mary tugged him backwards and opened a window.

“Honestly,” Mary scoffed, “How do you two get on without me?”

“Mostly by giggling our way through crime scenes and then having filthy sex,” John stammered as he took deep breaths from the window.

“He’s lying,” Sherlock stated, “John is meticulously clean when he intends to bottom and I don’t produce feces, therefore our sex can _not_ be described as filthy.”

“I wanna felch you later,” John snickered.

“Sure,” Sherlock shrugged.

John giggled while Sherlock soaked a paper towel in the substance and headed upstairs to disable their male suspect. John would feel better once he had gotten proper air in his system. Sherlock followed the subtle clues that led to Chris Jennings’ wing, opening the door to find a set of rooms layered in fancy electronics. The rest of the house was clearly decorated by Sabrina and made to be elitist, but this room and the rooms connected to it were Chris’ play areas. It screamed bachelor flat, with the exception that a maid clearly cleaned up after him. He had a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom all to himself and they were clearly where he indulged himself. A glass table had white powder coating it with a razor blade beside it and a rolled up American hundred-dollar bill. Sherlock took a picture for Sabrina, pocketed the money, and moved on to the actual bedroom. There Chris snored, half out of the covers, his blonde hair a mess and his chest covered in curly hair. He was probably quite attractive but Sherlock found himself comparing the man to a much older blonde who made his body thrill and crave. Chris was handsome and young, but he couldn’t hold a candle to John. Sherlock held the paper towel over his mouth removing it after a count of ten, and then tossed the man over his shoulders and headed back downstairs.

“John!” Sherlock stage whispered, “Help me get his thumb on the pad!”

John hurried over while Mary followed along with an eager grin. The safe popped open and John quickly caught the man who Sherlock was content to toss on the ground like a dirty rug. Mary minded him while John stood up and licked his lips in anticipation as Sherlock popped open the door. Inside were a wealth of labeled thumb drives, one of them conveniently labeled ‘affair’.

“Well that’s… convenient,” John stated the obvious as usual. Sherlock stopped himself from rolling his eyes just in time.

He picked out the drive along with two others, one labeled ‘pictures’ and one labeled ‘accounts’. He advised John and Mary to leave the man where he lay on the couch on his study, and he wasn’t even slightly cold about it no matter what John snarled at him. They left post haste… _after_ Mary insisted on cleaning up the kitchen a bit. Finally they were back out and at Mary’s car with John shifting miserably with his usual post-case erection.

“Again? Really?” John muttered miserably, “I think I liked being somewhat limp.”

“What?” Mary asked, drawing the word out in amusement. Sherlock pointed at John’s crotch and she gaped at his obvious arousal, “What’s that from?”

“John hasn’t told you about his-“

“Shut up, Sherlock!” John snapped.

“-Danger hard-ons?” Sherlock finished with a wicked gleam, “I got one last night, it only seems fair you get one tonight. I’ll drive.”

“Wait, what?” John asked, looking cornered and trying to decide between horrified and aroused.

“In the car? Really?” Mary asked, and then squealed and clapped her hands happily, sliding into the back, “Come on John!”

“While we’re moving? With Sherlock here?” John asked, and then climbed in to find Mary half undressed already, “Oh. Well. Okay, then.”

John was on her like a rabid dog, and Sherlock found himself alternating between driving the car and watching John thrust eagerly into a softly moaning woman in the back seat. Part of him was _trying_ to feel jealous, but he was mostly proud of John for pulling such sounds from her. The man could lack confidence at times, but his reputation in bed (before Sherlock’s fall) had not been exaggerated. He was a giving and thrilling lover, the sort who gave himself fully to the act until his lover could think of nothing and no one except him. Sherlock drove for nearly an hour, simply avoiding doing anything besides enjoying their lust in the back seat. He counted Mary’s climaxes and then moaned softly when John came with a guttural growl. He was achingly hard, but he had no doubt that he’d get his own in the end. Finally he pulled off to the side in the back alley behind their flat and turned to find John panting with his head resting on an exhausted Mary’s chest.

Mary smiled up at him, “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled and leaned over to pinch John’s bum.

“Oi!”

“Get up, we’re here.”

John and Mary redressed and hurried upstairs where Mary hurried to the bathroom.

“Hah!” John shouted after her, “Now who’s bowlegged!”

“Proud?” Sherlock asked.

“A bit,” John grinned, dropping onto the sofa, “Are we… okay?”

“Of course,” Sherlock smiled, “I’m relieved to see you have sex with Mary differently than you do with me.”

John snorted, “I should have known this was some sort of experiment.”

“Of course it was an experiment.”

“Why do you feel relieved that I have sex… _how_ do I even have sex differently? No. No, don’t answer that second one. I’ll go crazy analyzing myself, get performance anxiety, and go limp; and that’s a state Mary’s seen enough of.”

Sherlock chuckled a bit, “It means that you see us differently. That neither of us is just a body to fuck to you.”

“Well yeah,” John gave Sherlock a straightforward stare, “Of course. Course you’re not just a body to me- neither of you. I love you both, you know that.”

Sherlock nodded and moved to the desk to put in the drives and start analyzing the data. While it was downloading he headed for his kitchen and grabbed his container of eyeballs. He pulled one out, dipped it in some anti-inflammatory, and started to burn it with his acetone torch. John headed downstairs when he heard some odd noise and didn’t return for a bit. Sherlock was just getting interested in how long it would take the softer flesh behind the eye to burn when Mary came back out of the bathroom.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Mary laughed as she passed him, “Where’s John?”

“He isn’t here?”

“You still do that?” Mary asked, “Think he’s here when he isn’t?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. Mary couldn’t have known how much it hurt that John _wasn’t_ always there.

“Well,” Mary decided, “I’ll have to text him instead of kiss him goodbye. I’m late for another damn fitting. Has John talked to you about the wedding yet?”

“Both of you never stop talking to me about the wedding. You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Oh well, never mind then,” Mary replied, pecking him on the cheek, “Your tea is done, by the way.”

Sherlock stared at it in surprise. John must have started it without him noticing. He headed over and poured both cups out, preparing them the way they both preferred and then put his on his work table while John’s remained on the counter. Hopefully he’d return before it got cold. Otherwise Sherlock would be left staring at it until he returned, which could be days. It was always disconcerting to see John’s tea sitting about for days.

_Did he feel that way? Did he find a stray bottle of oil lying about and suddenly feel deeply hollow inside? Do humans feel hollow inside? Mycroft, what have you done?_

John returned, calling his name cheerfully.

“What was that _noise_ downstairs?” Sherlock wanted to know.

“Oh, it was Mrs. Hudson laughing.”

“Sounded like she was torturing an owl.”

“Yeah,” John laughed, “Well it was laughter.”

“Could have been both,” Sherlock decided.

“Busy?” John asked, which always meant he wanted more than Sherlock’s pretend attention.

“Just occupying myself,” Sherlock sighed, “Sometimes it’s _so_ hard not smoking.”

Sherlock glanced down at the sound of a plop and noticed the eyeball had fallen into his tea. _Well, that will be interesting. I wonder if the anti-flammable agent will wash off? If so, what will wash it off? The tea? The water? The sugar? I shall have to recreate this one multiple times to factor out…_

“Mind if I interrupt?” John asked. Which meant he needed to ‘talk’ and not just have Sherlock’s real attention.

“Ah, be my guest,” Sherlock waved to a seat and shut off his torch.

“Tea?” He offered, but John declined with an amused look on his face. He’d clearly forgotten he’d made two.

“So. The big question.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sherlock replied, noting by John’s sweating hands that he was anxious about this discussion.

“The best man,” John stated with his voice a sultry deep tone, then smiled up at Sherlock expectantly.

“The best man?” _Ah, he wants advice. Well, he’s come to the right place._

“What do you think?”

“Billy Kincaid.”

“Sorry what?”

“Billy Kincaid, the Camden Garrotter. Best man I ever knew. Vast contributions to charity never disclosed. Personally managed to save three hospitals from closure. I mean, the best and safest children’s homes in North England. Yes,” Sherlock added with an air of admittance, “Every now and again there would be some garrotings, but stacking up the lives saved _against_ the garrotings, on balance I’d say…”

“For my wedding,” John interrupted loudly, “For me. I need a best man.”

Sherlock was confused. Surely there were obvious choices, even if all of John’s friends did hate him?

“Oh, right.”

“Maybe not a garrotter.”

_Everyone’s so damn judgmental_ , Sherlock thought.

“Gavin?” He supplied instead of delivering his internal monologue to John, who was likely to be unappreciative anyway. He’d despised the paper on how much John’s friends hated him, after all.

“Who?” John asked, his tone indicating he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Gavin Lestrade. He’s a man and… good at it,” Sherlock shrugged, trying to convey with his eyes how little he _cared_.

“It’s Greg,” John replied, as if that were a personal insult to them both, “And he’s not my best friend.”

“Oh, Mike Stamford, I see. Well, he’s nice, um… Though I’m not sure how well he’d cope with…”

“No, Mike’s great,” John cut him off loudly, clearly trying to get some odd point across that Sherlock was missing and he thought was obtuse of him to not get right off the moment, “but _he’s_ not my best friend.”

Sherlock cocked his head to one side in confusion. Clearly John _knew_ who he wanted to be his best man and was simply being thick about it to make Sherlock ‘support’ his decision by suggesting it himself. And here Bill Crosby said _women_ wanted to hear their opinions voiced back at them in a deeper voice!

“Look, Sherlock,” John started, his attitude one of someone trying to convince a small child to behave, “This is the biggest and most important day of my life.”

“Well…”

“No, it is,” John snapped, emphasizing his non-dispute status by pointing angrily at Sherlock, “It is. And I want to be up there with the _two_ people that I love and care about most in the world.”

_Oh no_ , Sherlock thought _play dumb. Make him think it through. Surely he’ll realize it’s a terrible idea._

“Yes?” Sherlock asked.

“Mary Morstan,” John stated after a moment, trying to prompt Sherlock into jumping to the right conclusion.

“Yes.”

“And…”

Sherlock stared at him, willing John to reconsider.

“You.”

Sherlock stared down at John, running scenarios through his processor. He had enough data on John stored away that he could create simulations that would detail to him all of John’s possible reactions to his actions. He tried out several all at once.

_1)_

_“No.”_

_“What? Why not? Sherlock Holmes, you are my best friend, my boyfriend, my lover, and the person who has helped Mary plan this wedding as if it were your own!”_

_“Yes, but it will never_ be _my own. Androids can’t marry, John. While I am making peace with having to share you with Mary- and even enjoy her company- I refuse to stand there and watch her have the one thing I can never have with you. Planning it has been my way of living vicariously through her, but I’ll never get a big day, a pretty dress, or a chance to call you my husband!”_

_“Well, fuck, Sherlock, don’t blame me for that! And… wait?” A smile spread across John’s face, “You want to wear a wedding dress?”_

_Conclusion: John loses respect for me while simultaneously feeling guilty, setting the relationship back by months since he’s apparently complicated and annoying._

_2)_

_“I wasn’t even planning on going.”_

_“You what?!”_

_Conclusion: John becomes so outraged that they argue for hours without him listening to a word Sherlock actually says and then storms off for days. When he returns they start over from square one because John is complicated and annoying._

_3)_

_“Always a groomsman, never a groom.”_

_“Sorry?”_

_“Always a…”_

_“I heard you, but I’m not sure I follow.”_

_“I don’t want to be at a wedding with you unless it is_ my _wedding to you.”_

_“Sherlock I… I didn’t realize. Shit, I’m so sorry, mate. It’s just with the laws and all… You know I’d marry you in a heartbeat, don’t you?”_

_Conclusion: John feels guilty, setting the relationship back by months since he’s apparently complicated and annoying._

_4)_

_“John, standing by your side while you wed Mary Morstan would be an honor.”_

_“Fantastic!”_

_Conclusion: No way to back out, and I’ve already used the fake-my-death card._

“No, it’s getting a bit scary now,” John stated, drawing Sherlock out of his introspection.

He’d still not come up with a proper reaction so he only blinked at him.

“So in fact…” Sherlock muttered, trying to dodge around such a touchy subject, “You… you mean…”

“Nn-yes,” John replied, putting on a tone and smirking proudly.

_He thinks I’ll be touched. Buggering hell!_

Sherlock still needed time, his program having run out of responses that he’d actually be willing to give and now throwing movie lines at him, so he took up his cup to sip at it.

“Well, how was that?” John wondered.

Sherlock swished his mouth a moment, glancing down into the tea, “Surprisingly okay.”

“So normally you’d make a speech,” John pointed out, “But Mary and I thought we’d go non-traditional for that part.”

_Shit! He’s decided I accept! It will be worse getting out._

“Instead I just want you to focus on writing your own vows.”

“Sorry, my what?” Sherlock asked as his Anti-Fight-With-John programs all grinding to a halt in the face of conflicting data.

“Your vows, Sherlock,” John smiled softly up at him, “I’ll be writing mine, too. So will Mary. I want us to read our vows to each other after my wedding to Mary. It can’t happen in the church according to English law, but afterwards no one can stop me having a handfasting with my best man and the _other_ love of my life.”

With that John slipped out of his chair and got down on one knee, pulling a box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal one of John’s dog tags and one other, black plated titanium engraved with his name, set on a thin titanium chain. Beneath it was a duplicate that had John’s name and the other tag from his military days with a matching chain. It had to have cost a fortune. It was priceless.

“Sherlock Holmes, we have been through death, murder, and suicide together. We’ve hurt each other, loved each other, moved on, and come back. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you tie yourself to me for eternity?” John asked blinking back tears. 


	12. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 12

 

John stayed on his knee for another agonizing five minutes before Sherlock recalled he was there and then stated in a clear voice…

“I need to Google this.”

“Oh… okay. Right then. I’ll just…” John stammered as Sherlock breezed past him for the laptop, “Get up off my knee then.”

John stood, staring in concern at Sherlock as he stared at the screen of his laptop.

“What the hell is _lesbian porn_ doing on my laptop again? John! John what have you done to my laptop!”

“You did it to yourself, you twit,” John strode across the room to lean over his shoulder, “It’s from those… files… Oh. That’s…?”

“Our damsel in distress.”

“Not in dis-dress, that’s for sure,” John quipped.

“Was that a joke?”

“No, apparently not.”

“Hm.”

“So _she’s_ the one having the affair?” John clarified, “And we just broke into her home to steal _his_ evidence, drugging him in the process. This means that we’re bloody accomplices. Of all the…”

“You didn’t know?” Sherlock asked.

“What?”

“That she’s a lesbian. Or at the very least bisexual.”

“Oh, please,” John scoffed, “Don’t pretend like you knew from the start.”

“Not from the start, no,” Sherlock replied, “Mary clued me in.”

“ _Mary_ told you she was gay?”

“No. Mary _showed_ me she was gay. Mary walked in and she showed unconscious signs of attraction to her. I recognized the signs because I see women looking at me all the time that way. That’s why I took on the case. I wanted know the truth behind their marriage, how a sexless relationship could work out. You know, for Mary and I.”

John glared at Sherlock for a moment, but the bastard wasn’t bragging or trying to make John jealous. He was just stating facts.

“Well, I guess that’s what I get for dating a sexy ponce,” John sighed.

“Yes, well, this obviously wasn’t the outcome I was looking for. It’s unlikely I’ll be able to glean information on how to handle our plural relationship from these idiots. Might as well contact her. Call her up, John. Let’s get this over with.”

John sighed and shook his head, “I could have told you that you wouldn’t learn anything from them.”

“Why?” Sherlock scoffed, “Because she suspected him of cheating? That’s not evidence. I have it under reliable advice that couples have disagreements and…”

“No,” John sighed, rolling his eyes as he dialed the number off of the card she’d left him, “Because she didn’t mention ever loving him.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, “What?”

“She never said anything about having loved him, or how he’d changed, or how they used to be ‘so in love’ and all that. You know. Like they always do.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock replied, his tone aghast, “She didn’t say any of that. Which implies the marriage wasn’t a loving one from the start.”

“Yeah, exactly. Marriage for money, probably,” John nodded and then greeted Mrs. Jennings.

Sherlock, however, had dropped into his mind palace. John cleared his throat in annoyance and asked Mrs. Jennings to stop in. Sherlock stayed in his thinking pose until Jennings walked in the door, then he dropped it, ejected the drive, and held it up.

“I already know what happened, Mrs. Jennings, but I’m afraid I can’t help you very much,” Sherlock stated while John put her chair in its proper place, “You’re not going to find what you want on these drives, though you _will_ find some answers… perhaps better ones than you thought.”

Sabrina Jennings held out a shaky hand, but Sherlock pulled it away quickly.

“Mr. Holmes…” Sabrina started, her voice anxious, “What is on those drives?”

“You and your lovely partner.”

Sabrina went white, “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh,” Sherlock nodded, “From what I’ve seen he has yet to actually _access_ these drives. That means a private detective gave them to him so recently that he has yet to look at the contents and therefore yet to print it out. He was likely showed the contents on the camera itself just to make sure he was getting what he paid for, so he _does_ know about your affair. Thankfully, here lies all his evidence in the palm of my hand.”

“Please…” She whispered, “I can pay you.”

“I’m only interested in _one_ fee,” Sherlock replied, “The full story. I must confirm my observations, after all. Your marriage, as John pointed out, was never a happy one. He suggested a marriage of convenience for money, but you said he has nothing to bring to the marriage. We already know he doesn’t have any sort of sex appeal for you. So why? Why marry him? What has he got on you?”

Sabrina held herself steady for a moment, making an attempt at looking cold and indifferent, but broke and began to sob brokenly. Sherlock looked disgusted so John handed her some tissues and fetched her a glass of water. When she’d collected herself enough she began her tale.

“My family is old money,” She hiccupped, “Very traditional. They’d never approve of me being gay.”

“So the marriage was a beard?” John clarified.

“I wish!” Sabrina sobbed, “Chris was my friend in University. He set me up with a friend of his, a woman. I thought he was just being a good friend, but then he showed me the pictures. He’d gotten proof that I was gay! Chris threatened to tell my family if I didn’t marry him without a pre-nup so he could live off of my family’s money. They hated him. They begged me not to marry him. They threatened to take away my inheritance- I almost hoped they would! They didn’t and I couldn’t get ahold of those pictures to burn them until it was too late. I stood up at that alter and let my future and happiness slip away forever.”

Sabrina dissolved into tears, falling apart completely. It was the messy sort of crying, complete with dripping nose and splotchy cheeks. John gave her a disgusted look as well this time, but Sherlock was staring at her as if she’d just shown him his heart. He looked exposed, alarmed, and more than a bit worried. He turned and fetched an envelope, placing the drives inside of it. Then he handed the envelope over.

“Go on. Take it. The only hold he has over you now is the one you allow him to have. Tell your family everything. What’s the worst that could happen? They disown you?” Sherlock laughed bitterly, “Unlikely if they put up with that ridiculous excuse for a male as a son-in-law because they thought you loved him.”

“You don’t know what they’re like!” Sabrina sobbed, “They’ll take everything! Even the clothes off my back!”

“I highly doubt it,” Sherlock scoffed, “And even if they do wouldn’t it be worth it to be with the woman you love?”

Sherlock’s eyes met John’s over Sabrina’s head and she turned to see what he was looking at. John smiled softly up at Sherlock, nodding his head in acknowledgement. John saw a look of understanding dawn on Sabrina’s face and then a soft smile.

“Thank you,” She whispered, turning from John to Sherlock, “Thank you for everything.”

Sabrina walked out the door with the evidence and a small amount of hope in her eyes while John turned to Sherlock with a smile.

“That was good of you, Sherlock,” John said softy.

“Hm?” Sherlock replied absently, turning back to his eyeball experiment.

“Sherlock?” John called, “Sherlock, weren’t you going to… I don’t know… tell me something?”

“Not really,” Sherlock replied, “I think she rather spelled it out clearly enough for your blog.”

“No, I mean about _us_ , Sherlock. About us getting handfasted.”

“I was going to look it up…” Sherlock replied distractedly, turning back and heading for the computer.

“I can fill you in.”

“I prefer to do my own research, thank you,” Sherlock replied acerbically.

“You can’t say yes or no until you look it up?” John asked irritably.

“You have someplace to be?” Sherlock wondered.

“Yes, picking out your suit so we can match. You refused to get one last month when the rest of us did, remember?”

“That’s because I wasn’t going to be at your wedding.”

“I know. I got that, Sherlock. That’s why I decided not to make this a surprise like I’d originally planned.”

“A surprise?”

“I was going to ask you _at_ the reception and then have it all be spontaneous with just our friends in on it. Then I realized you were going to hate it if I did that, and that you probably were planning on just not going.”

“Yes, because watching the man I love commit himself to someone else and _not me_ couldn’t possibly be upsetting,” Sherlock snarled.

“I know it is,” John replied softly, “I’d hate it if this were reversed. Don’t you think I worry? I want you to feel included, which is why I want you as my best man, and I want you to know you mean just as much to me, which is why I want you tied to me, Sherlock.”

“ _Tied_ to you. _Tied_ to you. I don’t know what that _means!_ ” Sherlock snapped.

“You have a computer for a brain, you Google stuff inside it all the time. Why do you need the computer? You know it’s slower.”

Sherlock typed away, avoiding answering.

“Why?” John asked again.

“Because it’s more real if it’s pulled up with my hands,” Sherlock replied, “Otherwise it feels like a gold trip.”

John shifted uncomfortably, “You’ve been having cravings?”

“A few. Getting shot with a gold dart will do that. I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sherlock snapped, and then sighed and leaned forward to glare angrily at the laptop, “It says here it’s a Wiccan thing. We’re not Wiccan.”

“It wasn’t always _only_ a Wiccan thing. Anyone can do it,” John shrugged, “I wasn’t planning on having a priest or priestess there, just a friend of mine who is practicing and therefore knows the ceremony. It can’t be legal anyway, just symbolic. If you really think about it marriage is symbolic, too. The only thing you’ll be shorted on is the legal benefits of marriage, which we couldn’t enter into as a plural marriage or due to you being an android.”

“You plan on a literal tying?” Sherlock asked, looking calmer by the second.

“Yes. A ribbon or cord at everyone’s seat and they’ll tie our hands together in a special way- my friend will show them- that will let us slip our hands out when we relax them. We’ll be left with a braided loop that has a knot on the end containing all the cords and ribbons. We can it take home and put on the mantle or… wherever. Maybe hang it from the bull skull or something. The tags we’d wear daily. They’ll be our ‘rings’. Unless you want something different?”

John smiled but Sherlock was just staring at the screen.

“Sherlock,” John worried, “If this is about doing something different than a handfasting… I mean we can send new invitations or new instructions or…”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“ _Just_ fine?” John asked, “I thought you’d be… I don’t know. Touched? Moved?”

“I assure you I’m quite close to moved,” Sherlock replied with little to no emotion in his voice.

“Then why are you acting like Hoffnig?” John asked, starting to grow angry.

Sherlock blinked up at him in alarm, “I’m not… I’m sorry, John. I’m just… processing.”

“Okay. Yeah, that’s fair. You want to share what’s going on in that big processor of yours?”

“I’m… content. Not happy or thrilled, but… content.”

“You want more?”

“I want what I can’t have.”

“A proper wedding, or me to yourself?”

“A _plural_ wedding,” Sherlock corrected, “I’m past the point of wanting Mary out of the picture, of only accepting her because I know it’s best for you. I enjoy her company. I enjoy the side of you she brings out. I want the _three_ of us to be together as men and wife.”

John’s eyes softened, “I want that too, Sherlock. Thankfully that’s not just an android thing; so don’t take it too personally. Maybe someday the laws will change and more than two people- android or not- will be able to legally marry. Until then, we’re going to make the best of things. Mary told me to tell you to consider this _your_ wedding, too. That’s why she wanted to involve you from the start. I was the one stalling on asking you because I couldn’t think of the right way to do it.”

Sherlock smiled, “She’s a good woman, John. Exceptional. If she weren’t committed to husband and household I’d say she’d make a fantastic addition to our duo.”

“Umm,” John frowned, “She kind of _is_ becoming an addition… I mean, if you don’t want to take her on cases and…”

Sherlock waved his hand in dismissal, “She’ll be wanting kids. One can’t run around London after children with a papoose strapped to oneself. Have you considered adoption?”

“No,” John blinked in confusion, “I’ve considered having unprotected sex. You know, the natural way and all. Mary’s a bit old for it, but we can always try and if it doesn’t work then… why?”

“Just a thought,” Sherlock shrugged.

“Why are you thinking it?” John asked suspiciously.

“So you’ve already sent out the invitations for our handfasting?” Sherlock replied, changing the subject.

John scowled but let it drop, “Yeah. Mary and I made up separate ones and included them with the invitations you helped us design. Mike called me up in a tiff and told me that he’d been planning on sending a rather scathing telegram if I’d married just Mary. Said he’d been furious for weeks.”

Sherlock snickered, “He considers himself responsible for our union.”

“Well he might,” John acknowledged with a nod.

“I need milk and eggs,” Sherlock announced out of the blue.

John sighed. This was par for the course with Sherlock. He waited until John or Mary came over rather than do the shopping himself. Of course, if John didn’t go do it then he’d make Mrs. Hudson and she’d complain to John and…

“Fine. Anything else?”

“A meal for my date with Mary tomorrow. Something easy is fine. Add water and boil. That sort of thing.”

“Pasta then. Right. I’m on it.”

John headed to the nearest Tesco with a spring in his step. Despite Sherlock not taking the proposal with the tearful- or better yet, racy- joy that John had fantasized about, he’d agreed and John felt a bit closer to their three-way relationship being on equal footing. Sherlock and Mary were as thick as thieves, he and Sherlock were having _fantastic_ sex again, he and _Mary_ were having decent sex again (lets face it, sex with Sherlock was always going to top sex with anyone else) and he’d already started making arrangements to move back into 221B with his new bride in tow. The world was coming up roses… until he got to the Tesco.

“What’s going on?” John asked, blood starting to thrum at the sight of the large group of milling, frightened people outside the store, “Robbery?”

_And me without my gun or detective…_

A woman turned towards him, her face tense with fear, “The store is out of food.”

“What?” John asked.

“They’re out of food. It’s been low on stock for a week, but they kept saying their shipment was delayed. Now they’re saying there’s no food and there won’t be more. It’s the third store I’ve been to today!”

“No food. What, ever?”

The woman nodded, bursting into tears, “How will I feed my kids? They’re too young to understand! _I_ don’t even understand! This is England! We can’t be out of _food_!”

John walked around her and started pushing his way through the crowd. It parted, apparently used to this reaction from a newcomer, but it still took him ten full minutes to get to the front. There he found the windows boarded up, showing damage where people had attempted to break in. A peak through a ragged hole showed the inside lit but all the shelves empty. There was nothing. Not even flyers. They’d clearly known this was coming. Hell, they’d not bothered to mop up.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” A speaker blared, and John and the mob of terrified people turned to see a military jeep with a man in fatigues balanced on the back to raise him above the crowd. He was holding a bullhorn, “DO NOT PANIC! GO BACK TO YOUR HOMES. A FOOD SUBSTITUTE WILL BE DELIVERED TO EVERY HOME WITH A VALID CENSUS ADDRESS. IF YOU HAVE NOT FILED YOUR TAXES IN TWO YEARS OR MORE YOU WILL NEED TO REPORT TO YOUR NEAREST LIBRARY TO FILL OUT A FORM. I REPEAT: DO NOT PANIC. NO ONE WILL STARVE.”

John wasn’t panicking, but he did shove his way through the crowd and run back to Baker Street as fast as his human legs could carry him.

“Sherlock!” John gasped, bursting through the door, “Sherlock! There’s no food! Anywhere, from what they’re saying. None! They’re going to issue supplies and…”

Sherlock sighed as if put upon, “Damn. I needed that milk for an experiment. I doubt the substitutes they hand out will be valid for experimentation. Besides, it would be rather inconsiderate of me to use up food substitutes that you humans are going to _need_ for the foreseeable future.”

John’s vision went a bit white. Rage. Hot, angry, rage ran through him.

“You knew.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You know what’s going on.”

“Not exactly,” Sherlock replied, “But other cities have run out of food. It’s been kept quite hushed up what with the news stations being gagged, but I managed to find out through my usual sources. Mycroft is keeping secrets.”

“You said that before. What’s it mean? From you or from everyone?”

“Oh, always _everyone_ ,” Sherlock replied with a scoff, “But from me? Oh, that’s new. That’s quite new.”

Sherlock picked up his violin and started to play ‘Beautiful Dreamer’, his eyes unfocused as he drifted into his mind palace to sort through the new information. John stood there, fear and anger warring inside of him until fear won out.

No food.

No _food_.

What would he do?

Would there be clean water?

What if Mary died?

What if he _and_ Mary died?

Who would take care of Sherlock?

His hint at adoption now made sense. Why bring a child into a world where a first world country couldn’t supply its people with _food._ What sort of substitutes would they be getting and why not have them at stores? Why not tell them on the news so people weren’t rioting in the damn streets?!

No sooner had that last thought crossed John’s mind than a gun went off outside and a car alarm started to blare.

Sherlock sighed in disgust, “I suppose we’d better nail some boards over the windows.”

“I’ll help Mrs. Hudson,” John replied, “She’s on the ground floor.”

John hurried downstairs to find Mrs. Hudson in her kitchen sobbing while the radio repeated a message over and over again on all channels. It was the prime minister and she sounded firm and strong despite the words being repeated again and again for all to hear.

“Citizens of Great Britain. It is essential that we maintain our civil and responsible attitudes. Our Queen has prepared for this eventuality and no one will be left wanting. In light of this development we expect many changes in the years to come, but one thing is certain: we will prevail. If you have not found out already, as of today every store selling food or other supplies has been shut down, their contents collected and distributed to the most desperate people first. More will follow by nightfall today. Our mail system is in full force delivering cases of a substance charmingly named [Soylent](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soylent_\(food_substitute\)), which may cause delays in delivery of standard mail. We ask you all to be patient and maintain a peaceful atmosphere. Help your neighbors and those with disabilities. Children will continue to go to school and those in boarding schools will be receiving their Soylent post haste. Individuals with food allergies must report to in on the following website…”

John heard another gun volley outside and snatched up Mrs. Hudson’s keys. He ran downstairs to 221C where she kept some emergency supplies for when Sherlock blew things up. He located wood and tools and began boarding up the windows while Mrs. Hudson inventoried her kitchen.

“We have enough for a week between the two of us, less if you bring Mary over. You will bring Mary, won’t you?”

“Maybe,” John replied, “I’m not sure what we’re doing yet. I have to get to the clinic. Mary’s there. Are mobiles working?”

Mrs. Hudson nodded and showed him that she still had a signal, “What does this all mean, John?”

“I don’t know, but Sherlock will figure it out. I want you upstairs with him. He’ll protect you in case someone decides to break in. Best move the food. We’ll need to hide it.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded and John hurried back upstairs to collect Sherlock’s gun, promising to return it once he’d gotten ahold of himself.

“Stay safe,” John ordered, and then hurried downstairs into the mayhem of the streets while Sherlock nailed a plank of wood over his windows.

XXX

Sherlock was sorry John hadn’t stayed longer. They were supposed to spend the day together until Mary got off from work, but he was in a right state and headed off to his practice to tell them what was going on. He insisted they’d be seeing an influx of patients.

“There’s bound to be food allergies,” John worried, “And people just plain panicking. Doing stupid things. Suicides and depression and damnable worried mothers…”

John had headed off without even giving him a farewell kiss, but Sherlock had expected this reaction so he didn’t sulk over it. He’d have preferred to go with him in an attempt to protect his beloved, but his body was running down. He’d only be a hindrance when he froze in the middle of the street. Instead he made sure Mrs. Hudson wasn’t going to throw out any of his experiments in her quest to hoard food and headed to his room to run some update programs. He’d been finding ways around sleeping for a bit now, making his programs run while he was still awake. It required him to be in a rather horrifying state of awakened paralysis, but it was worth it not to have those _dreams_ again. So Sherlock plugged himself in and started the program.

Instantly his body went lax, his arms limp at his side as he lay on the padded massage table that made up his ‘bed’ in his room. On one side of the room classical music played him soothing sounds while on the other a book on disc discussed the medical aspects of surviving on liquid substitutes. He let his mind drift. There was no point in staying focused when he was damned to inactivity for five hours straight. Then something went wrong. First the sound cut out. Then his vision faded to black and white. Then it began to darken. Sherlock lay there on the table, immobile to the point of being unable to even _look_ as terrified as he felt. Inside he was screaming and writhing, shouting for John.

_Is this what death is like? Am I dying? Humans without sleep die, but do androids? WHY didn’t I consult Mycroft?! He’d have a vested interest in keeping me awake!_

Down he dropped. Down into unconsciousness so deep that it felt _heavy_ on his body.

_The room was round, white, and padded. He was lashed in a straightjacket this time, with unfamiliar arms wrapped around him tightly. His first reaction was to try to break free, of course. He squirmed and writhed, but androids couldn’t dislocate their arms like humans could so he was well and truly trapped. At least with handcuffs he could pick the locks!_

_The door opened and Mycroft stepped into the room, the brief glimpse into the area behind him revealing curved stairs. He was holding a tray full of android necessities: oil, lubricant, a standard android semen bottle, and a screwdriver._

_“Hello my love,” Mycroft purred, smiling at him in a way that was wholly unfamiliar._

_Sherlock tried to reply but found himself unable. Instead James Moriarty replied for him._

_“Hello my dear.”_

_“We’re going to do a bit of maintenance today. How was your nap?”_

_“Fine. No dreams.”_

_“That’s a relief,” Mycroft replied, crouching down opposite him and reaching out to stroke his face, “You’re so precious to me, my love.”_

_Mycroft leaned forward, lust in his eyes, and captured Sherlock’s lips with a firmness he’d never have expected of his brother. A hot tongue invaded his mouth. He tried to fight back but the body he found himself trapped in accepted the kiss and responded in kind. Hot breath caressed his face as a hand stroked down his side and gripped his hip before moving around to squeeze his arse. He felt his cock rising even as he mentally screamed for a halt. Mycroft laid him down and stretched out over him, straddling his hips and smirking down at him with a possessive gleam._

_“I think it’s time, don’t you?” Mycroft asked._

_“Yes,” Moriarty’s voice replied, longing obvious in his tone, “I need this.”_

_“Believe me when I tell you,” Mycroft breathed, his voice trembling with longing, “That the feeling is mutual.”_

_Mycroft reached down to undo his trousers and…_

Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he shivered in revulsion. Was it a dream? Or reality? What did it _mean_? He had to talk to Molly to find out what she’d done with Moriarty’s body after she’d removed Sherlock’s ‘soul’ from it, but he’d developed an irrational fear of her since his first dream.

_Well, perhaps not irrational since my worst nightmare is being held captive by a sex crazed, abusive woman._

At that moment he heard John and Mary’s voices speaking in hushed, panicked tones in the next room. Sherlock stood and hurried out to see if they were all right and found himself with an armful of John Watson.

“We’ll be fine,” John told him, his tone anxious.

“I know,” Sherlock replied, “I wasn’t worried.”

John stepped back, “I brought Mary straight here, but there are things we need from home. The weird thing is the news is saying only food is affected. We’ll continue to have gas, electricity, tubes running… as long as we don’t panic and riot and such.”

“Which is already happening,” Sherlock replied dryly.

“Can we trust them?” John asked.

“How should I know?” Sherlock replied nastily.

“Oh, I don’t know?” John snapped back, “Maybe because your brother _is_ the British government?”

Sherlock sighed, “I told you, he’s been keeping secrets from me.”

“Yeah, but if you _ask_ him…” John paused, “Your eyes are… are you okay?”

“I had another nightmare,” Sherlock replied honestly, “We’ll probably have an influx of business with all this going on, don’t you think? The police will be busy.”

“Right, yeah… Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You wanted to go get some of Mary’s things?” Sherlock diverted once again.

“Yeah,” John nodded, still looking suspicious, “Yeah, we want to go over and get a few essentials. Or it might be best if all of you came to ours. We’re on the fifth floor. It might be safer.”

Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson took turns dithering at that idea until John sighed and asked Sherlock to help him move their things. He agreed readily and they set off.

“I tried to reach Greg,” John told Sherlock as the android drove them towards John and Mary’s flat, “It went to voicemail twice.”

“I’ll try,” Sherlock replied, and hit phone on speaker.

“Lestrade,” Greg answered wearily.

“It’s Sherlock,” He said, “John’s here too.”

“Don’t go outside, guys,” Lestrade stated, his tone showing how often he’d said that lately.

“Too late,” John replied, “We’ll be home as soon as we can. Mary and I will be staying at Baker Street.”

“John, have they called you yet? The government agencies?” Lestrade asked.

“No, why?” John asked worriedly.

“Anyone with a medical or veterinary degree is being called. They’re to stop charging for treatments and to stop dispensing medication for anything except life threatening illnesses. Everyone who needs medication is to be evaluated and their evaluation sent in to the government. If they get approved they can have their meds.”

“That’s… that’s mad!” John gasped, “People will revolt! It will get worse! What the hell is going on?”

“Don’t know. I’m guessing medicines are going to become scarce. Not everyone is out of food, though. The cities are the worse off. The country still has food but I’ve got word from mates out there that people have set up barricades and are shooting people on sight.”

“Gods,” John whispered in horror.

“You want to hear the _really_ weird part?” Lestrade asked.

“Yeah?” John wondered.

“Some of them are getting back up after being shot. Like it wasn’t anything. Then people report seeing them again the next day and they don’t remember being shot.”

“That’s… What is that even?” John wondered, “Sherlock?”

“Androids,” Sherlock replied with a shrug, “That’s the only answer.”

“People with birth certificates,” Lestrade replied scathingly, “There’s a whole zombie disease conspiracy on…”

“Rumours,” Sherlock argued, “People are scared and jumping to all sorts of conclusions. Think logically, Griffon. Honestly. How can I expect you to be my best man at my handfasting if you’re going to be constantly jumping to ridiculous conclusions?”

There was a pregnant pause and then Greg replied with a choked voice, “It’s Greg, and I’d be honoured.”

“Good,” Sherlock nodded, “I was going to ask Mary, but I think it would take away from her day. You’re my second choice.”

John groaned and rubbed his hand over his face, “Sherlock.”

“It’s fine,” Lestrade chuckled, “I know what he’s like. Look, be safe, okay? We all want to _get_ to that wedding.”

“We’re here,” Sherlock said to John, and then to the phone, “Goodnight.”


	13. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 13

 

The grass was dying. It had plenty of sunlight and water, but it simply wasn’t surviving. People spoke in whispers about was what had happening to the crops. Food was dying at an alarming rate, simply failing to thrive with no reason given. Pests weren’t an issue; they seemed to be dying off as well. Sherlock was reading up on everything to deal with the influx of people online demanding he provide them with an explanation. He’d started a bee colony in the attic and was trying to grow a tomato plant in the window. He too blood samples from anyone who came to call, analyzing it beneath his microscope, and staring at John and Mary anxiously after each test he ran. When they pressed him for an explanation he told them everything was inconclusive.

“Sometimes things seem off and sometimes they don’t,” Sherlock sighed, “Some plants thrive and others don’t. Some people have high levels of radiation in their systems and some don’t. It makes no sense. This is happening _all around the world_. Some disaster has clearly occurred but it’s been so covered up that there is literally _no_ evidence except for what appears to be long term effects.”

“You mean our planet is dying and we’re going to die with it,” Mary repeated back.

“Quite possibly,” Sherlock replied, then shrugged, “Or there’s a temporary issue that will resolve itself in time. The government is certainly treating it that way by dealing with the symptoms rather than the problem… to our knowledge.”

“There are an awful lot of theories online,” John pointed out, “What do you make about the ones dealing with money?”

“Your constant worry,” Sherlock griped, “I’m bringing in plenty of money, your practice is of no concern.”

“I’m not worried about _money_ Sherlock,” John snipped, “I’m worried about why the government is trying to do _away_ with money and set up a barter system.”

“They’re making necessities free,” Sherlock shrugged, “And compensating by giving people who have necessary skills such as doctors enough free Soylent to support their families. If you want pretty things you have to get a job like shop clerk or cabby.”

“Yeah, I got that,” John waved the envelope his ‘fee’ had come in. The packets of Soylent were expensive and now available on store shelves once the world had settled down into non-panic mode.

“What are you complaining about? You made a killing,” Sherlock snorted, “You and Mary will have plenty to eat. If you have a child all you have to do is apply to the government to get _more_ and they’ll send it right to you.”

“That’s not the _point_ , Sherlock,” John fussed, “What’s going _on_?”

“It’s a simple solution to make sure everyone gets what they need, John,” Sherlock pointed out, “Despite a possible- perhaps even inevitable- economic collapse.”

John sagged back in his chair, “That’s what they’re bracing for? A Depression?”

“A rather bad one, apparently,” Sherlock nodded.

XXX

John bolted up the stairs to 221B. Sherlock’s last text about rimming was giving him a tense feeling in his gut. It was awkward living with both of his lovers in the same flat, but they’d managed it so far. Then Sherlock had to go and send him a text criticizing his bedroom habits with Mary. John paused at the top landing and re-read the texts, hoping for a new one in which Sherlock promised to behave. No such luck.

**Shame on you for never performing anilingus on Mary. SH**

**She doesn’t have an interest.**

**She would if you DID it. SH**

**If I didn’t warn her ahead I was going to, she wouldn’t know to clean up back there.**

**Right. I’ll discuss proper cleaning with her. SH**

**No.**

**Sherlock no!**

**NO! BAD ANDROID!**

**DAMN IT SHERLOCK, DON’T YOU DARE DISCUSS ANAL PREP WITH MY FUTURE WIFE!**

**FUCKING HELL! I CAN’T LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR ONE MINUTE!**

John was just bracing himself for what was likely to be a horrible row going on when he heard laughter from within. Curious, he opened the door slowly and saw bits of red and white rubber littering the floor; they appeared to be popped balloons. Sherlock sat up from where he and Mary were stretched out on the floor and gave John a startled look.

“Oh. You’re back,” Sherlock stated, “Isn’t it a bit early?”

John gaped at him. Sherlock’s trousers were around his ankles. Mary was dressed in some _very_ naughty lingerie. Her panties were around her ankle, too.

“Oh, bollocks!” Mary sputtered, “I was saving this for the wedding night!”

“Am I… interrupting something? He asked in a tone both hopeful and worried?” John laughed uncomfortably.

“No, we’re done,” Sherlock replied, “I ran out of semen and Mary was exhausted.”

“Right,” John replied, adjusting his erection in his trousers, “Well, good. That’s… good. Is this good?”

“Fantastic,” Mary groaned happily, smiling radiantly.

“It was surprisingly enjoyable,” Sherlock nodded, “I was far less anxious than I thought I’d be.”

“Good. That’s… good. So this… this will be happening… often?” John tested, “Preferably when I’m around?”

Mary and Sherlock exchanged looks, both of them frowning a bit.

“Nah,” Mary replied, shaking her head.

“Not likely,” Sherlock replied, “However we will be far more comfortable with each other from now on.”

“Right. Sure. Comfortable. Because when two friends sleep together the usually are _more_ comfortable around each other. Of course they are,” John replied, “One question?”

“Go on,” Sherlock insisted while Mary nodded acceptingly.

“ _Why_ did you wait till I was gone?” John whined.

“Oh, I thought he’d ask about the balloons,” Mary replied.

“Try not to point them out overmuch.”

“Oh no, I get that,” John stated, “I know you think I’m an idiot, Sherlock, but your clue to Mary was ‘pop’ and now there are balloons everywhere and she got you to put out for her. Fine. Balloon fetish. I won’t judge, but I’m going to need to see some pictures.”

“Very well,” Sherlock agreed.

“Pictures?” Mary asked, “What pictures?”

“Will video do?” Sherlock asked.

“With sound?” John asked hopefully.

“Certainly,” Sherlock replied, “Just so long as you realize it’s all going to be from my point of view. You won’t actually see me in the shots.”

“ _What_ video?!” Mary demanded.

“Can you send it to my e-mail?” John asked.

“Of course… done,” Sherlock announced.

“What do you mean _done_?!” Mary shouted.

“Thanks,” John grinned, “I feel like it’s my birthday! If you two exhausted sex fiends need me I’ll be upstairs getting _my_ rocks off. Ta!”

John hurried upstairs to watch his own personal porn while Mary and Sherlock started the row he’d been expecting downstairs.

XXX

Sherlock was treating it like a party of sorts and had started avoiding cases in lieu of planning his and Mary’s wedding. There were a number of adjustments to make now that food would not be available, but the catering service had told them they were switching over to a new technique in which they flavoured Soylent in order to make it more palatable and special for occasions such as marriages. It was still in the testing phases, but John had been assured they’d have several batches ready for the wedding.

A/N **And this (or rather the next chapter) is where I ran out of steam. Message me on FB if you are interested in this story. Otherwise I’m shelving it for a bit.**

**WARNING! PLEASE READ!: The next chapter contains Mary/Sherlock sex, but no plot. You may skip.**


	14. vincentmeoblinn | Life and 3nergy Ch 14

 

**A/N PLEASE READ. This chapter contains NO PLOT. Has M/F between Sherlock and Mary. For now my muse has decided that what happens in the following chapter is a one-time thing, but I make no definite promises. She’s flaky.**

Sherlock and Mary laughed happily, clinking their glasses together before downing their respective drinks. Mary made a face at the taste of the Soylent, and then giggled while Sherlock swished his oil around before swallowing it happily. It had taken him _far_ too long to get a bottle and he’d be feeling the grittiness of the old stuff for a few days now.

“People!” Mary laughed.

“It is _not_ ,” Sherlock chuckled, “I’ve already analyzed some and…”

“Don’t tell me,” She replied, cutting him off, “I don’t think I want to know. Okay. My turn.”

“Go on, then,” Sherlock snickered.

“Rimming.”

“Of course we have,” Sherlock scoffed, “It’s oral sex. It’s not shocking or…”

“Maybe not for him on you, but you on him? Ew.”

“Not really,” Sherlock shrugged, “Vaginas aren’t exactly _clean_ you know. They’re all warm and moist… _yeasty_.”

Sherlock made a disgusted face and Mary gaped at him in mock-offense, “I beg your pardon! Vaginas are self-cleaning!”

“Technically,” Sherlock grinned, “With the proper application of curry so is the rectum.”

They dissolved into laughter and Sherlock fetched Mary another glass, using the time as an excuse to shoot John a text.

**Shame on you for never performing anilingus on Mary. SH**

**She doesn’t have an interest.**

**She would if you DID it. SH**

**If I didn’t warn her ahead I was going to, she wouldn’t know to clean up back there.**

**Right. I’ll discuss proper cleaning with her. SH**

**No.**

**Sherlock no!**

**NO! BAD ANDROID!**

**DAMN IT SHERLOCK, DON’T YOU DARE DISCUSS ANAL PREP WITH MY FUTURE WIFE!**

**FUCKING HELL! I CAN’T LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR ONE MINUTE!**

Sherlock stepped into the den again to the ringing of the bell. Mary squealed and bolted for the door, stamping down the steps in bare feet. When she returned it was while giving eager instructions to someone coming up the stairs.

“Okay, just put them all in here; the big one in that chair, and those you can let fly,” Mary ordered, “The rest put on the couch.”

“Mary?” Sherlock asked, “What’s…”

Sherlock froze. A deliveryman was coming up the stairs, a party logo large on his shirt, with a handful of helium-filled balloons. Behind him came a second fellow with the largest balloon he’d ever seen in his arms. It was three feet across. He sat it in Sherlock’s chair while the android swallowed hard.

“Red?” Sherlock choked and had to clear his throat and try again, “Red and white? Should I be looking for symbolism?”

“They’re for the wedding,” Mary smiled, “Well… they’re for _after_ the wedding. I’m going to put on a show for John! You’ll be there too, of course, but it’s really for John. I needed a place to rehearse it. Just hang on a sec, I’m going to change!”

Mary bolted upstairs to get something out of the suitcase she’d been living in since moving into 221B with John during the riots a week ago. The two men brought in the next armful while Sherlock waited anxiously for her return. The second armful were average sized balloons, all swollen to nearly the bursting point, and they dropped them down onto the sofa in their plastic bag container where they bounced lazily. The second man deposited a clear bag full of long thin balloons fit for making into shapes.

_Gods, please let her not have decided that my fetish is some ridiculous sideshow act. If she comes down here in a clown…_

Sherlock stopped thinking. Completely. Mary had come back down and shut the door behind the delivery truck men. Her hair was done up in a style he’d never seen before, reminiscent of the 1920’s. She grinned at him wickedly and dropped the robe to show she was clad in white stockings, a garter belt holding them steady, a set of wicked looking white stiletto heels, and a white, ruffled corset that belonged on a set for _The Rocky Horror Picture Show,_ and equally white and ruffly panties.

“Okay,” Mary grinned, “It might take me a bit to get this right because I’ve only done it _without_ balloons, so this is my first dress rehearsal.”

“With balloons.”

“Well, yeah,” She smiled, “I’ve learned how to shape them- I had to do that at home when John was here- but now I can do the whole thing all through! Okay. Put this CD in and hit play on the third song when I give you the signal.”

Sherlock wandered over to his stereo and inserted the disk, bringing up the song and pausing it before it could play. He walked to John’s chair and sat himself down, staring across at that gigantic white balloon. It was mocking him. He wanted to smell it, that rubbery scent so similar to what clung to robots lower than android levels. His attraction to them was, quite frankly, only slightly less embarrassing than his attraction to balloons. Lower level androids were at least barely sentient; a step above robots, which were akin to admitting you had a thing for animals. The balloons were safer; they couldn’t mouth off about how you’d dry humped them for three hours straight, thus leaving them without time to do the damn laundry for their ‘master’ a.k.a. Mycroft. No, Sherlock had to have a _slave_ kink and lust after machines that had no brains to speak of. Or, in the case of the balloons, something symbolic enough to be like them without _being_ them.

_At least I haven’t gotten hot for a fax machine or something. Balloons are a slightly more normal fetish than that; even humans can be looners. The symbolism goes deeper than my robot kink, though. They’re symbolic of the childhood I never had. They jar your heart when they pop, even if you’re expecting it. They scream and moan when you touch them. Something I can kill without being a true sociopath and landing myself in jail. Then there’s the oral aspect… shame she has them already blown up. I’d enjoy seeing her wrap her lips around them and blow her life into them, over and again. Bits of saliva would get inside, too. I could collect it from the popped scraps after and run experiments on it. Then masturbate to the idea of her felating a balloon… or John… or hell even me._

“Now then,” Mary announced, clearly excited, “Just hit play and sit back and relax. Let me know if anything needs work. Okay?”

Sherlock nodded mildy, picked up the stereo remote and started the brave new world that had just stepped into his world.

(I suggest you now use this [link](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KA6R1DMb-Z8) or find a version of the Cell Block Tango and play it in the background.)

The song ‘Cell Block Tango’ from the movie Chicago started playing. It had never been a favorite of Sherlock’s, but the song was amusingly accurate regarding motives for murders. Of course, she’d changed a few things. She was performing it solo, for starters. Otherwise… every time she uttered the word _pop_ she brought her heal down on one of the white balloons. She danced around the strings for the helium balloons, treating them like the bars of the prison and ‘swinging’ from them, though she obviously put no weight on them. She mimed having a partner to murder, popping a red balloon in her hand with her press-on nails whenever blood was required. Sherlock sat in John’s chair, gripping the armrests and panting as arousal pounded through his artificial body. His body was tense to the point of unmovable, his cock straining in his trousers, his eyes flickered at each loud bang as his mind flashed through murders, various robots he’d lusted after over the years, and _John_. The scent of the material in the air as she tossed each at him after she’d popped the ‘victims’ in her hands. Her acrobatics were impressive, clearly showing a background in gymnastics and dance.

_I’ll have to make sure John can keep up with her at the wedding_ , Sherlocks overactive mind supplied as she stood on her hands and spread her legs lewdly before easily dropping down to her knees, crawling forward a few paces, and bringing a pen down on two red balloons in quick succession. She scooped up their remains and dribbled them into Sherlock’s lap. He let out an involuntary moan and his hips jolted up as if expecting to meet resistance outside of his overstretched pants and trousers. The zip rubbed him painfully as his cock slipped through the opening in his pants and he groaned, fumbling with them to relieve the pressure. If Mary was surprised to see his cock bobbing a foot away from her face she showed no sign of it and merely continued on.

When she came to the final refrain she grabbed two of the longer, shapable balloons and started twisting them about in her hands while tapping one heel on the floor to the beat of the song as she lip-synced the words. She was no longer popping balloons, but Sherlock wasn’t disappointed as she twisted the balloons about, braiding them together to form… a tower? Some sort of weapon?

Mary approached him and dropped down into his lap, gripping her wrist with one hand as Sherlock stared up at her with pupils so wide they must have been colourless.

“Mary,” He whispered, fear singing in his veins even as desire made his cock twitch.

“We have three options,” She stated, grabbing the remote and turning off the stereo, “You can let me relieve some of your tension with _this,”_ here she showed him the hollow center of the balloon shape and he groaned as he realized she’d made him a damned cock stroker, “Or you can have my anal virginity since I figure you’d be more comfortable with that. I can promise you I’ll be completely submissive in my behavior if that will make you more okay with this, and it _never_ has to happen again.”

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. He knew why she wanted this. Not a fling before her wedding, not a chance to see what John saw in Sherlock, not even just to get off. Mary needed them to be comfortable in each other’s arms, and there was no way to be that way without experiencing the full wealth of physical and sexual realm that Sherlock had so far denied her. She’d discovered his fetish. He was aroused beyond measure. There was no way in hell he was turning her down.

“Th-that first. To take the edge off. I’m…,” Sherlock shut his eyes and panted, completely undone, “I’m so close, Mary.”

“Borrow your finger?” She asked softly, taking his hand and guiding his finger to point at his cock. Sherlock nodded and rescued his hand so he could stroke the squirt of lubricant from his finger over his cock himself. He bit his lip to hold himself off from coming just from that slight stimulation.

Mary gave him a moment to take deep breaths and calm down before lowering the balloon sheath down over his cock. She held it in both hands, raising and lowering it while Sherlock moaned and writhed in the chair. For the first few strokes he couldn’t look away as his cock vanished inside of the candy striped inflated toy, then he threw his head back and started to thrust up into the toy as the sight overwhelmed him.

“Oh gods,” Sherlock gasped, “Oh bloody _hell!_ ”

“You’re gorgeous,” Mary whispered, “I know you want it a secret, but if John could see you now…”

Sherlock’s cock pulsed at the mention of his lover’s name. Sherlock could just imagine John walking in on this and gaping in shock. Would he be aroused or laugh? Both? Then Mary sped up her strokes and all thought fled as Sherlock’s felt his orgasm program lurch ahead of schedule. Sherlock swore vehemently as pleasure shot through him, his cock exploding inside of the squeaking stroker as Mary continued to pump it over him. Sherlock was almost sobbing with pleasure, unable to believe how amazing it was to find someone to take his fetish seriously and then _pleasure_ him with it, completely unselfishly as he’d not promised to touch her after and she’d implied he wasn’t required to.

Mary slipped the toy she’d made for him off of his cock and hugged it between her breasts, the rubber likely causing static against the lace of her corset. Sherlock grinned and tested his theory by reaching out and tapping her shoulder. Mary squeaked as a shock flared up between them and they both giggled a bit.

“Well?” Mary asked, “Are we good?”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes, and then some. You’re… strange.”

“Yeah, I am that,” Mary laughed, “What now, my also strange friend?”

“You mentioned losing your anal virginity?” Sherlock asked as he raised his eyebrow, “I’ve had John’s, I think I’d like yours.”

Mary smiled, “Where at?”

“Here, of course,” Sherlock smirked, “Down on your hands and knees please, and don’t you _dare_ push those balloon remains aside.”

Mary clapped her hands eagerly and then scrambled down to the ground. She dropped to hands and knees while Sherlock snatched up one of the long, shapable balloons and expertly made a loop of it. Then he slid one of her wrists through it and made another loop around the leg of his chair. Mary giggled.

“Am I supposed to keep that on or pop it?”

“We’ll see how long you can manage to _not_ pop it, shall we?” Sherlock asked with a smirk.

The android stripped out of his clothes and calmly knelt behind her. He licked his lips as he peeled her underwear down. She was wet beneath it, proving that she was enjoying herself at least. He’d expected a butt plug, but she wasn’t even manually prepped. He’d be doing that himself, apparently.

“Have you an objection to me taking you vaginally first?” Sherlock asked.

“Not at all,” Mary replied, her voice a bit nervous, “I just thought you might prefer…”

“John and I have several types of sex,” Sherlock replied, running his fingers over her wet slit and eliciting a moan, “Penetration isn’t necessarily the goal for all gay men. Some don’t like anal at all. Given the opportunity I’m curious to see if I can enjoy a woman’s body fully. I can climax three more times before running out of semen, so there’s no reason to limit myself one orifice. Frankly, you might not like anal. Not all women do.”

While giving his speech he’d been stroking her clit in a circle, his touch light as he teased it out of its hood. She whimpered a bit, gasped a few times, and held herself back from moving against his hand despite the fact she clearly wanted more.

“You’ve cleaned yourself I see. Inside as well?” Sherlock asked as he spread her round orbs to fully reveal her tight hole. Her bottom had significantly more padding than John’s did. It felt good in his hand so he squeezed it a few times.

“Y-yes,” Mary gasped, “I looked up how on the inter….oh!”

Mary was suitably shocked by the feel of a tongue stroking along her pucker, and lost the ability to hold herself still. She pressed back against his tongue as he dragged the flat along her pucker a few times before flicking his tongue up and down quickly. Mary let out surprised shouts and gasped a few times.

“Oh, that should not feel as good as it does,” Mary panted.

“Mmmm, yes it should,” Sherlock replied, moving his lips against her twitching hole, “Aside from the numerous nerves in the area I’m currently touching, a woman’s clitoris extends throughout her lower half, so part of it is actually wrapped around on either side of your rectum. Some women experience stronger orgasms through anal than they do through vaginal.”

“Stop talking,” Mary panted, “Or don’t use doctor terms. I hear them all day.”

“Apologies,” Sherlock smirked, and then reached down to stimulate her clit as well.

Mary gasped and arched her back again, wriggling back for more as Sherlock renewed his efforts to rim her into mindlessness. She was dripping wet. Sherlock straightened up, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. He hesitated a moment as he lined himself up, but his cock was throbbing with need so he decided to let his body lead him rather than overanalyze the situation.

Sherlock groaned as he sank into her. He’d deleted as many memories of his abuser as possible, though they often managed to re-emerge in dreams anyway, so he’d literally forgotten what this felt like. It was so different from what he was used to. Mary was tight all the way inside, not just on the cusp, and when he took up a rhythm she clenched repeatedly rather than becoming looser the longer he continued. Sherlock was soon lost in the pleasure. It was so _easy_. No prep. No worry. No need to slow down and make sure he wasn’t harming his partner. He just threw his head back and fucked her fast and hard. Mary was more than game, moaning enthusiastically as she thrust back on his cock. He recalled he was supposed to be doing more than just mindlessly humping her and reached down to probe her rear entrance, releasing a bit of lube.

“It. Won’t. Fit,” Mary gasped.

“Wrong,” Sherlock replied, stroking her until her muscles relaxed.

The first push in he only got up to the knuckle before she tensed too much. He waited, releasing a small amount of lubricant, and then turned on the vibration setting 3 on his penis and bollocks. Mary screamed and clenched his cock with her sheath, pressing herself back on him as pleasure overwhelmed her. Sherlock moaned, her trembling muscles stimulating him almost as much as the vibration from inside of his body.

“Go on. Forget yourself in pleasure,” He panted, sliding his finger inside of her easily as she sank forward onto her face, her legs barely supporting her. Sherlock lowered his vibration setting to one and continued to thrust into her slowly as he prepared her.

“Oh gods,” She moaned, and he felt her fingers accidentally stroking his bollocks as she stimulated herself.

Sherlock made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat and then kicked the vibration up a notch. She writhed on him this time, her body unsure if it wanted to ride out the pleasure or retreat from the overwhelming sensation. A gush of fluids brought a grin to his face and then he quickly followed her as his own body pulsed it’s pleasure out once again. Sherlock moaned hungrily before slipping free.

“P-please,” Mary gasped, “Please don’t stop.”

He had two fingers in her now and was spreading them and twisting them to make sure she was ready. Finally he lined himself up, shutting off the vibration, and slid slowly into her gaping bum.

“Oh,” Mary said as he pulled back after a few inches, “That’s not so bad.”

“Tell me if it hurts. It shouldn’t hurt. Burn a bit, yes, but not hurt.”

“No, it’s fine,” Mary replied, “A bit… odd. No offense.”

Sherlock smirked, “It will feel good soon.”

So saying he slid inside completely and stilled while she fluttered around him. She whimpered a bit, shifted, hissed in discomfort, and then stilled. Sherlock turned his vibration setting to 1 and Mary gasped, pushing herself back up on her hands again as her back bowed with surprised pleasure.

“Oh fuck!” Mary cried out, surprising him with her profanity.

“Mmm, now that’s more like it,” Sherlock smirked, and then started to move slowly in and out of her body.

“Oh bloody hell, this shouldn’t feel so good!”

“Yes it should,” Sherlock panted. He was close on the heels of another climax, the very idea of being the first man inside of her- even if it was only this particular orifice- was alarmingly appealing.

_John hasn’t even had this. I’ve beaten him here. And of course now she’ll want it with him, but I’ll still have had this first. He’ll be furious and aroused and…_

“John!” Sherlock cried out.

Mary gasped as her body rolled through another climax and dragged Sherlock along with her. He moaned and shivered as he emptied himself inside of her again. He felt his reserves click on empty and slid free of her, watching in amusement as his artificial semen leaked out of both quivering holes.

“You look so debauched,” Sherlock muttered, reaching out to run his thumb through the mess around her cunt.

“I _am_ debauched. _”_

“You’re welcome to the shower.”

“Later,” Mary replied, and then collapsed sideways onto the floor.

Her movement strained the ‘handcuffs’ she was wearing and two of the bubbles popped loudly. They both jumped and yelped before bursting into merry laughter.

 

**For those of you doubting this scenario could be sexy as hell… click if you dare ;) NSFW**

[multi balloon display](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oG28m5RkqT0)

  
[blonde necking balloon & humping](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCo3INrwJOo)

  
[2 girls 1 balloon](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rLxrCY-eQ4)

 


End file.
